Thank God It's Fatal
by Jack E. Peace
Summary: "There's something really wrong with Quinn." "You have no idea how true that is."  Based on "Jennifer's Body
1. I

**Disclaimer: **If you recognize the characters, clearly, they are not mine. The title comes from the song "Heretics" by Andrew Bird. The basis for this story, several lines and the basic plot come from the movie _Jennifer's Body_. If you haven't seen it, I seriously suggestion checking it out because it's really funny and a very entertaining way to spend an hour and a half.

**A/N:** Don't ask me where this story came from. I was watching _Jennifer's Body_ for probably the twentieth time the other day and something about it just prompted me to write this story. It's a little bit different than stuff I've worked on before but hopefully you guys will enjoy it and if you could kindly drop me a line and let me know what you think, I would be most appreciative!

1.

Hell is a teenage girl.

No really, think about it. Not only are our bodies going through all those crazy changes that make us act like we've gone completely crazy at all times but we have to deal with other people just like us. Teenage girls surrounded by other teenage girls and every one of us is just as hormonal and confused as the next. Guys have it easy, guys pretty much look the same their entire lives. Sure some guys have muscles and some guys are completely scrawny and gangly but the muscular guys just beat up the scrawny guys and life goes on. Some girls have boobs, some have great butts and some, unfortunately, have neither. Girls don't beat each other up; girls just tease each other mercilessly until either implants are purchased or the girl who is being teased gets the hell out of the small town where the teasing is taking place and becomes a mega-huge star who never looks back and laughs while the girls who were doing the teasing get knocked up by the high-school boyfriends and have fifteen kids while their husbands drink away their paychecks. Everyone has a plan. But that's hardly the issue at hand.

The only thing that can make the teenage years bearable is another teenage girl who, instead of trying to make your life a living hell, actually tries to make things better by sticking by your side no matter what. The type of friend that you've known since you were playing in the sandbox and who doesn't care about the fact that she's on the drill team and you're a glee club nerd when high school hierarchy means everything. I had a friend like that once, someone I thought would be my best friend forever, a constant shoulder to cry on and person the laugh with. The reason why we're no longer friends is going to sound kind of crazy. Actually, it's going to sound more than kind of crazy. It's going to sound like the kind of crazy that gets people locked away in mental institutions and heavily medicated. It's the reason that my dads and I picked up and left our perfect life and moved to Lima, Ohio, a nothing town in an nothing state where no one ever really makes anything of themselves. Not exactly the place that I, Rachel Berry, ever saw myself. But it was far enough away from the town where we lived before that I was okay with the move, even though I was well aware that distance doesn't exactly erase horrible memories or truths that seem too impossible to believe.

But all those horrible memories and nightmare worthy images were not things I was trying to recall on my first day at the new high school I had been hastily enrolled in by my well-meaning daddy. I had insisted on home-schooling or maybe even a performing arts school because, really, I hadn't exactly had the best experience with my previous high school and now that I had lost my right-arm best friend, it was doubtful that my experience at this high school was going to be any better. But my dads were nothing if not firm in their conviction in the public school system. So McKinley High School it is.

As I stand outside the towering building (much larger and well-kept than my previous institution, which is a good sign, surely) I feel uncharacteristic nerves rolling my stomach and dryness in my throat. I can't help but remember my first day of high school, when I was nothing but a scrawny freshmen wearing pretty much what I am wearing now (knee socks and skirts are never out of fashion, thank you very much and it always pays to make a good impression), wondering if high school was really going to be as bad as I'd heard. But something was different about that day because standing beside me was the one person who could make things better no matter what, who's smile could always make me feel better. I can picture her now, standing beside me with a smirk and a perfect eyebrow arched. "Are you going inside or not?" I blink and she vanishes quickly, leaving me standing there, alone, at the foot of the stairs leading up to the entrance.

Apparition or no, she has a point. Butterflies might be doing the salsa in my stomach but I have never been one to back down from a challenge. I think that became pretty apparent a month ago, when I'd been forced to do what no one else would, even if it cost me everything and restarted my life.

I walk up the stairs and push open the doors, scanning through the mass of students to find the guidance counselor's office. Unfortunately, I have yet to experience that reported 'growth spurt' that apparently all teenagers are privy to, so peering over the heads of the Neanderthalic jocks and girls in heels is not an option and by the time I have shoved my way through their ranks I've had my feet stepped on three times and an elbow in my side that I wasn't entirely sure was accidental.

But I finally manage to find the guidance office (relatively) unscathed. The glass on the front of the door is polished immaculately, so I take the chance to adjust my appearance and plaster on the smile I've perfected over the past few months to convince the world that all is right. I tap on the wooden frame of the door (someone who clearly spent that much time on the glass wouldn't want even the slightest smudge) before turning the handle.

A compact and willowy red-headed woman is sitting behind a desk, her focus on a silver frame that she is polishing with almost unnecessary fierceness, her tongue poking out between her lips. I hesitate for a moment in the doorway, not wanting to describe her concentration. I know how it can be to completely lose yourself in whatever you are doing, even if what you're doing happens to be polishing a picture frame. The rest of her office is just as orderly and well-tended as her spotless door would lead me to believe. The books on the shelf behind her desk are organized both by size and color and her plants look well dusted. There are carefully handmade posters decorating the walls, encouraging anyone who steps into the office to give life their best and always reach for the stars. I feel a connection with this woman and not just because my tendency toward uber-organization appreciates the care she has taken with her workspace.

The woman finally looks up from the picture and seems almost surprised to see me standing there. "Oh." She sits up straighter in her seat, carefully putting her frame down between her name plate and a coffee mug with neatly lined up pens. She takes a minute to make sure that there is equal distance between all three items before turning back to give me her attention. "What can I do for you?"

I step into her office. "I'm Rachel Berry, the new transfer student. You're Ms. Pillsbury, correct?" She nods. "My dads spoke with you over the weekend about my enrollment."

Ms. Pillsbury nods and gestures for me to sit in the seat directly in front of her own. I hold my bag to my chest so as not to accidently bump her desk as I sit down. "Yes, Rachel, of course." She opens a drawer on the right-hand side of her desk and pulls out a manila folder. "Your fathers were very adamant about enrolling you as quickly as possible."

"They hate for me to miss any school." I explain. Truthfully, they wanted me to get back to my 'normal' life as quickly as possible, as though changing schools and towns would be enough to solve that problem. I highly doubt that, out of all the things that I will go on to be, that 'normal' will be one of them, not after what's happened. "You did receive my transcript, correct? I would hate to have to waste time enrolling in classes I've already completed."

Despite my previous feeling of kinship toward this woman, she gives me the same look that I've seen from teachers and dance instructors and acting coaches my entire life: _who the hell does this girl think she is_? I can't help that sometimes I know better than the adults around me, especially when it comes to my training and schooling. And why would I want to waste time in remedial classes in which I've already excelled? I feel like that question is completely justifiable.

"Yes, Rachel, we have your transcript. I'm sure that your schedule will meet your approval." Ms. Pillsbury pulls a sheet of paper from my folder and gingerly hands it to me.

I quickly glance over the classes; the registrar did a passable job, there are no duplicates and all AP classes, which should provide a distraction from the thoughts constantly swirling around in my mind, which is something I desperately need. It's hard to sleep at night without lying awake remembering or seeing those horrible images in my mind. Hopefully a heavy class load will exhaust my brain enough to tame my subconscious.

I nod, getting to my feet. "Thank you, Ms. Pillsbury, I'll be sure to come to you if I need further guidance." The woman half-heartedly agrees with my suggestion as I walk out the door. I remember what my fathers said about seeking Ms. Pillsbury's help for more than just scheduling issues. They suggested that I open up to her, express everything that I've been feeling over the past couple of months. They want to find me a therapist here in Lima, someone with whom I can share my innermost thoughts. They still don't believe the story that I told them about the events leading up to our hurried departure from our previous hometown and so it's only natural for them to think that a therapist would be able to help me through this 'troubled time' that I have found myself in following the deaths of my closest friend and boyfriend. I have given up trying to convince them that the story I have told them is the truth, that I do not fabricate stories, especially not about things as important as what happened with Quinn Fabray, Jesse St. James and myself. So, naturally, I am not going to bother trying to convince anyone else (trained professional or no) that what I say is the truth.

Besides, all that is supposed to be behind me, isn't it? Isn't that the reason that we moved in the first place, so that I could begin the 'healing process' in a new place? A fresh start, that's what my dad kept saying as we unpacked boxes and tried to make a house a home. Why should I bother with rehashing those memories to perfect strangers if I'm trying to start over? Of course, those memories rehash themselves every night but in my mind and I know everything I remember is absolutely true.

I check the classroom number of my homeroom before starting down the hallway, joining the crush of students. McKinley is a big place, it seems like all the teenagers in and around Lima have been enrolled here. As the new girl, I am aware that I am turning heads as I walk down the hallway but I keep my attention focused on the classrooms around me, ignoring the piercing stares of the cheerleaders and the once-overs I'm getting from just about everyone else. Once I've found my homeroom, I can go about introducing myself to my fellow classmates and hopefully finding not a best friend but at least someone who I can eat lunch with and do homework with after school.

I am not expecting to receive a face-full of frozen cherry slushie. I mean _really_, who _does_ that? One minute I'm looking up from my schedule, the next some broad-shouldered football player is throwing the entire contents of his plastic cup directly in my face. "Welcome to McKinley loser." He sneers at me, laughing as he high-fives the guys standing next to him.

I stop in my tracks, sputtering, frozen in place. The ice is cold and sticky and dripping down my neck and soaking into the fabric of my blouse and maybe even the waistband of my skirt. I'm sure that it's in my hair, the corn syrup ruining the effort I put into making myself look presentable. I can hear people laughing around me and that burns more than the sting of slushie I'm currently trying to blink out of my eyes.

"Not cool man." I hear a voice growl from somewhere behind me. "What's your problem?"

"Just giving her the ole McKinley High welcome." I turn around to see the guy who slushied me laughing as he shrugs, his attention on a guy in a letterman's jacket who's currently giving him an intimidating glare. "You know, the one you invented." The guy keeps laughing as he starts down the hallway with his fellow beefy jock friends, who are all undoubtedly very proud of themselves.

The only guy who isn't laughing at my unfortunate appearance turns his attention in my direction. He's got this completely ridiculous mohawk haircut and what looks to be a permanent scowl of disinterest on his face but given the fact that he's not only not laughing at me but actually seems offended on my behalf, I could care less about his haircut or the expression on his face.

"Those guys are assholes." He says, shaking his head.

I wipe slushie out of my eyes, trying to remember a time when I felt as gross as I do now. A month ago, when I was covered in another type of sticky red liquid that was most definitely not slushie probably tops this moment. Remembering that night, coupled with the feeling of humiliation I'm currently experiencing, brings the sting of tears to my eyes but I'll be damned if any of these people see me crying. "It's fine." I say stiffly, straightening my posture. "Thank you." I turn back down the hallway, intending to find a bathroom and clean off before I start crying right here in the hallway.

To my surprise, the guy follows after me, his long strides easily matching my much shorter ones (see, _everyone else_ experienced this fabled teenage growth spurt). "I just can't believe they slushed you on your first day." He says, shaking his head. "I mean, they don't even know if you're a loser yet or not."

I look up at him through narrowed eyes. "I'm glad that you at least have criteria before you toss a frozen drink on someone." Honestly, what kind of school is this? I just might finally have the ammunition I need to convince my dads to agree to home schooling.

The guy looks like I've thrown him a curve ball and he runs his hand over that absurd haircut. "Look, I was just trying to apologize, all right? Shit." He shakes his head and I can see yet another familiar look in his eyes: the _why did I ever get involved with this girl _look. The only people who never had that look were Quinn and Jesse and they're both gone now. I feel the sting of tears again and look away from him before he can notice. "I'm Puck, by the way."

I raise an eyebrow, but my face is still turned away so he doesn't see. "Puck? What type of ridiculous name is that?"

Puck (that is a piece of sporting equipment, not a name) narrows his eyes and squares his jaw. "Fine, crazy, suit yourself." He turns and heads down the hall without a backwards glance and is quickly joined by a dark-haired Latina girl in a very short cheerleading skirt. She glances over her shoulder and sneers at me.

So within my first five minutes of being enrolled at McKinley High School, my appearance has been completely ruined and I've already managed to be on the receiving end of the scornful looks of the 'popular' kids. Again, I can easily imagine Quinn standing next to me, that smirk on her sharp face. "Good going Berry."

**TBC**


	2. II

2.

Slushie proves to be very difficult to get of fabric without the aid of something stronger than water and cheap paper towels that were undoubtedly bought in bulk. If Quinn were here, she would know exactly what to do to make me look a little bit more presentable, even with slushie stains on my shirt and skirt but unfortunately, it's just me standing in a bathroom in some serious need of cleaning, trying to ignore the looks and laughs from girls as they go in and out. Those are copies of the same looks that I get in the hallway and throughout my first few classes and I have to admit that this is not at all how I pictured my first day at McKinley High School. Then again, how was I supposed to imagine that I would be assaulted by a frozen drink while walking down the hallway?

No one bothers to do much more than acknowledge me with more than a smirk and pitying look, so it's almost (surprisingly) nice to see Puck in my English class and then again in Spanish class. His eyes flicker over to me when I walk through the door but he doesn't do anything more to acknowledge me. He's sitting next to the Latina girl who sidled up to him in the hallway that morning and she sneers as me as I walk past their table. I've never been one to sit in the back of the classroom but strategically choosing my seat has become a bit of survival mechanism today.

Spanish is by far the most interesting class of the day simply because the teacher (who happens to be the same man I saw in the framed pictures in Ms. Pillsbury's office) actually tries to get the students actively involved in the lesson that he's teaching and breaks into "Livin' La Vida Loca" just to see if the class is paying attention. He's got a nice voice and watching him dance around like an idiot just to wake up the catatonic class reminds me of the times when Jesse used to sing along (horribly) with the radio just to get me to smile. He had an amazing voice as well and hearing him purposefully warble out flat notes or mangle words never failed to make me laugh, even when I was in the worst of moods. Geez, I've been spending far too much time thinking about Quinn and Jesse today. It's impossible not to think about one without the other and imagining them, even in the best memories, makes me feel like I'm being stabbed in the heart repeatedly. How long am I going to have to through wading through their memories on a daily basis? How long am I going to feel Quinn and Jesse sized holes in my daily life? Thinking about them now, especially after the morning I've already had, is like poking a bruise just to make sure it still hurts.

After Spanish is lunch and I'm not surprised when no one offers me an empty seat at their table. Maybe teenagers in Lima are just unnecessarily unfriendly. It's just as well because I'm not really hungry anyway. Instead, I head toward the library, which I know will be blessedly empty and silent. I can always use this downtime to re-read _Their Eyes Were Watching God_ for English class.

At the front of the library is a large bulletin board covered with flyers advertising the goings-on at McKinley High. There are flyers begging people to join the yearbook staff or the Future Rodeo Clowns club. A flyer for a club dedicated to the Loch Ness Monster makes me smile for the first time all day. Barely visible beneath a vibrant poster for the McKinley High Cheerios is a sign-up sheet for glee club, though most of the lines had been filled with inappropriate words or racial slurs. Try-outs were several weeks ago but just knowing that this school actually has a glee club makes me feel a little bit better.

I sit at one of the many empty tables toward the back of the library and flip open the well-worn book that my English teacher handed me today after class had ended. But I can't concentrate on the words on the page; instead I find myself thinking about glee club. Jesse and I had been in glee club back home and, if I may so humbly point out, we were the stars. The club director was wise enough to center most of the performances around our voices, which none of the other glee clubbers seemed to have a problem with because Jesse and I single-handedly (well, maybe not single-handedly but pretty darn close) carried us to three first place Regionals wins and one second place Nationals win. Jesse was the only person who understood my passion for singing, how important it was to practice rigorously every day. He and Quinn shared my dreams to move to New York City and my refusal to be just a small-town nobody. Jesse and I were certain we were destined for the Broadway stage; Quinn was planning on making her mark on the fashion industry. In just a few short months, we were going to be moving to the city that never sleeps, the Three Musketeers planning to take it by storm. But one horrible night and a bad decision I would never be able to forgive myself for had changed all of that. Now I was sitting in the back of a library in an unfamiliar high school in an even smaller town than the one I'd just left behind. I hadn't really put much effort into singing since Jesse died; it was unnecessarily painful to partake in the activity that had made us both so happy. Thinking about joining McKinley's glee club surprised me; I hadn't thought about New York or Broadway or performing since Jesse and Quinn had died. Maybe seeing that flyer had been a sign. If I joined glee club again, at least my dads would be happy. They might stop trying to pressure me into talking to a therapist.

The rest of the school day passed much like the first half before it. At least no one else tried to slushie me again, but that was the best thing that I could say about the whole experience. Once the final bell had rung, I wandered through the hallways, trying to find the choir room and see if I could still find a place in the glee club. Once they heard me sing, I knew that my place would be more than secure, but it was a matter of getting an audition at all.

The choir room was toward the very back wing of the school, like someone had stuck it there years ago simply to forget it about it. There was a lot of laughter drifting from the room and not a whole lot of singing. It didn't sound professional or promising but being part of a club again was better than nothing.

There were about a dozen kids sitting in chairs, talking amongst themselves or standing near the assortment of instruments along the wall, plucking out chords or hitting the drums with unnecessary force. The fact that Puck was one of the people wailing on the drums did not surprise me; the fact that he was in glee club at all did. There was an unnaturally tall boy standing beside Puck, wincing every time his friend brings the drumsticks down and he looks up when I enter, giving me a crooked, boyish smile that makes my heart skip a beat. Puck glances over to see what has attracted his friend's attention and raises an eyebrow when he sees me standing in the foyer. "You lost?" He questions.

I clear my throat. The other members of the glee club have stopped their chatter and are focusing on me as well. My stomach turns unpleasantly when I see the Latina girl sitting in the very back row of chairs, braiding the hair of a skinny blonde also wearing the cheerleading uniform. I have classes with a few of the other members of the club, including a bespectacled boy in a wheel-chair and a blond boy with a rather large mouth. Maybe joining glee club will deposit me into a ready-made group of friends.

"I wanted to audition." I say, looking around the room for the adult in charge if this motley crew of teenagers. Just about every member of the student body seems to be represented in the club, which is a promising sign. "Where is your advisor?" I raise an eyebrow.

A few of the kids snicker and roll their eyes. A well-dressed boy and a curvy black girl exchange looks and start laughing, shaking their heads. I'm surprised when my Spanish teacher, Mr. Schuester, walks out of the office on the right-hand side of the classroom. He looks at me with an expression of surprise on his face. "Rachel, can I help you?"

"Yes, Mr. Schuester, I would like to audition for glee club." I explain, walking in his direction. "I was the female lead in my previous school's glee club and would be more than happy to help with song choices and choreography as well." Quinn was on our school's drill team, so she used to offer her input on choreography and help put all the steps together.

Mr. Schuester looks a little taken aback by my suggestion (which doesn't surprise me, I'm sure none of the other students are quick to offer their advice or expertise, providing they have any) and nods slowly. "Okay, Rachel…we're always looking for new members. Why don't you show us what you've got." He corrals the rest of the students in their seats and sits down next to Puck.

I stand in front of the room and being the focus of the crowd (even a small one) makes me feel immediately at home. Puck is looking at me with barely concealed interest, a smirk playing across his lips. The tall boy sitting next to him is watching me as well, a more welcoming smile on his face.

I introduce myself and instruct the pianist to play "On my Own," which is my old go-to song whenever I need to demonstrate my vocal talents quickly and efficiently. It's not as well-suited for showing off my range as a Barbara or Celine song but it's usually enough to get the point across. Plus, I find it very fitting now because I truly am on my own now that Quinn and Jesse are gone. The words resonant much more than ever have before and I feel my throat tightening as I sing; how many times today have I pretended that Quinn and Jesse were beside me? _I know it's only in my mind, that I'm talking to myself and not to him_…even mental conversations have proved to be a comfort over the past few weeks.

Once I finish, the room erupts into surprised and enthusiastic applause, though the expertly coifed-boy and black girl exchange a look again and the girl mouths 'diva' which I resent. Puck looks impressed (though I'm not sure why impressing him matters) and for some reason he winks at me when I catch his eye.

"So what day are rehearsals?" I question.

* * *

><p>The McKinley High glee club must be in pretty sorry shape because they meet every day after school except for Fridays. I'm surprised to learn that several of the club's members, including Puck, are on the football team as well as part of glee club because that seems to blur the lines of the hierarchical system that high schools seem to thrive on. Mr. Schuester has only been the director of the glee club for two years and in that time they have yet to even place at regionals. Well, lucky for them they now have Rachel Berry in their ranks and by the time we finish that afternoon's rehearsal I have a pretty good idea where the strengths and weakness lie. No wonder they haven't ever won anything.<p>

"Mr. Schuester," I say, gathering up my books and the sheet music that he had passed out at the beginning of practice, "can I speak with you? I've got several ideas that I really think will go a long way in improving the state of the club."

Mr. Schuester gives me The Look (trust me, I'm very used to it by now) as I start over in his direction but before I can take more than a few steps an arm reaches out and grabs my elbow. I turn around to find myself facing Puck, who gives me a smile that I'm sure has gotten many cheerleaders out of their spanks. Well, it's not going to work on me; the last thing I need is to even think about boys so soon after what happened with Jesse. "I hope you don't think joining glee club is going to convince those assholes not to slushie you."

"If I'm not mistaken, you're in the glee club, are you not?" I raise an eyebrow. "I don't see anyone throwing frozen drinks in your face."

Puck shrugs. "Those guys know I'd kick their asses if they even thought about it." He laughs as though resorting to violence is something to be proud of. "But, you know, your voice is nice or whatever."

I regard him cautiously. "Are you trying to give me a compliment?"

Puck scoffs. "Nah." Instead of being offended, I just want to smile and I'm not sure why. It's not exactly like someone giving me a back-handed compliment and then taking it back is anything worth smiling about. "So what school did you transfer from?"

It should be an easy question to answer, one that I can respond to without even really thinking about it. But the words freeze in my throat and I divert from gaze from Puck's face. That morning I had breakfast with my dads just as I always did, only this pre-school morning ritual wasn't filled with well-wishes or questions about tests or projects. "It's probably for the best not to mention where we moved from, bear." Daddy advised as he poured coffee into his mug. "Who knows how far those news stories have reached." Dad agreed with him; he was still anxious about the move, certain that someone would turn up on our doorstep at any minute full of questions and suspicions. I felt bad for causing my dads all this stress and worry; on one hand, they'd had to move from the town they'd built their life in, leaving everything behind to start over. On the other, they had a daughter who was spouting off all these crazy stories and who had killed her best friend. I had never been a source of worry for my dads, I had always striven to be the perfect daughter, with the perfect grades and starring roles in performances and dance recitals. And now all of that had completely fallen apart and I was so far from the perfect daughter that I didn't even know who she was anymore.

"It's not a trick question, Berry." Puck laughs, shaking his head.

Before I can think of a passable lie, the unusually tall boy who had spent the entire practice messing up the choreography and once nearly elbowing the tall blonde cheerleader in the face steps up beside Puck and gives me a crooked, boyish smile that makes him look adorable and dense at the same time. I can't help but smile back, barely noticing the way Puck rolls his eyes. "Is this guy giving you a hard time?" He questions, looking at me.

"Just making conversation Hudson." Puck gives him a friendly(?) shove before moving past me and toward the door.

The boy, who's name I know is Finn because that was what the cheerleaders shrieked at him when he kept tripping over them, tilts his head toward the door. "Can I walk you to your car? Or give you a ride or something?"

A ride would be nice, seeing as my dads had dropped me off this morning and were still at work; I'd promised to take the bus home and hadn't bothered to tell them I was staying late for glee club because I knew I would beat them home either way. I still didn't know my way around Lima well enough to find my own way home. But still, I couldn't help but think about Jesse and how that Jesse-sized hole in my life ached every minute from his absence. A ride was just a ride and it was better than wandering around town trying to find the right street. "Okay."

Finn does most of the talking as we walk toward his car in the parking lot behind the school and thankfully doesn't ask me those difficult 'where are you from' questions that I'm not really sure how to answer. It's sort of nice, sitting in the front seat of his car listening to him tell a self-deprecating story about his horrendous dance moves. If I close my eyes and pretend I can almost imagine that I'm the Rachel Berry I was five months ago, before my life spun completely out of control and when I was mostly normal with a close-as-sisters best friend and a boy who loved me. I will never be that girl here in Lima, Ohio and all the pretending in the world won't change that.

**TBC**


	3. III

3.

Usually, the nightmares I'm graced with while trying to get a decent night's sleep follow a predictable pattern. One night I'm dreaming of the night that I lost Quinn forever and had no one else to blame but myself. Another I'm reliving the night that Jesse died and I was too late to save him. Most often, I dream of killing my best friend and when I wake in a cold sweat with tears on my cheeks, I can practically feel the knife in my palm and I can see Quinn there in the darkness of my room, a ghostly figure wearing the expression she had that night: shock and betrayal.

Tonight, I'm treated to a medley of all three.

"_I think we should go out tonight." Quinn is checking out her reflection in the mirror I have stuck to my locker door. She is immaculate, as always. "There's this cool new band playing at the club in town."_

"_Jesse is taking me to see _Love Story_ tonight." I hate saying no to Quinn because it's been the two of us since we were playing in the sandbox and even though Quinn likes Jesse and no one ever feels like the third wheel when we're together, I don't want to her to think that I'm ever choosing him over her. _

_Quinn makes a voice. "Cross out Rachel." She says, drawing an x in the air, just like we used to do when we were little and defacing our elementary and middle school yearbooks. The mean girls and pig-headed guys always got x's across their pictures and it was a tradition that we'd kept up with, something we did in the middle of class when someone said or did something particularly idiotic or mean, looking at one another from across the room and miming the drawing of an x in the air, trying not to dissolve into giggles. I knew that she was joking, teasing me, but I couldn't help but feel my resolve crumbling. _

"_Okay, I guess we could do that." _

I should have said no. I know Quinn wouldn't have gone without me.

_The club where the "hot new band from the city" (Quinn's description) was playing wasn't exactly a club, it was more like a bar with a lax policy on checking IDs and a sticker toilet that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in three decades. I only ever went here with Quinn and I never understood why she even wanted to step foot in this place at all. The building was so dirty that I was sure you could get a disease just by stepping through the door. The band was, to put it bluntly, shitty; the guys could barely hold, let alone play, their instruments correctly and they looked like they'd used Johnny Depp in _Edward Scissorhands _as their style icon. And their name was Soft Shoulder, which is hardly a decent name for a band. But the lead singer kept making eyes at Quinn, who was standing front and center and she, as always, ate up the attention. I might need applause to live but for Quinn, the attention of guys was her life force. _

_After they finished their set (which is blessedly short), Quinn drug me over to the stage, flashing the lead singer her man-killing smile. "You guys were really great." When she lies, it's always convincing. _

_The guy gives her a once over that almost makes my skin crawl. "Hey, thanks a lot. You know any cool places for, like, an after party or something?" _

"_This is the only bar in town." I point out and the guy gives me a look like he didn't even know I was standing there at all. _

_He shrugs. "Figures, a shithole like this." He looks back at Quinn. "I guess we could make our own party." _

I will never forgive myself for what happened next. I should have known better, I _did_ know better. The lead singer gave me the creeps, he made my stomach turn over and knot itself into impossible twists and when he looked at me, I saw nothing but darkness in his eyes. When he suggested heading out to his van and driving off somewhere for a 'private party' (see, creep!) I grabbed Quinn's hand and begged her not to go with him. She shoved me off, giving me The Look (the only time I had ever received it from her) and shook her head. "Don't be such a goodie-two shoes." She snapped. She followed that guy and his equally creepy band members into their white van and I watched as they closed the door behind her. I watched her get into the van and even then I knew something awful was going to happen.

_I hadn't wanted to go to the stupid winter formal dance (not with everything that had been happening lately with Quinn and what she had become and our three dead classmates) but it was important to Jesse so, of course, I agreed to go with him. We agreed to meet at the dance to avoid my dads and his mom taking a lot of pictures we didn't want put on display at future family gatherings and I waited at the entrance to the gym for nearly twenty minutes before I started to realize that something was wrong. I felt it in my stomach, the overwhelming certainty that something was wrong. Since that night at the bar, since what had happened to Quinn, I had felt more connected to her than usual; I could feel the evil growing inside of her, taking over the girl who had once been my best friend, until there was only a demon wearing my best friend's body. I knew, with terrifying certainty, every time she had killed to sustain herself and I had that feeling again now but it was different than before, worse, so much worse because I could feel Jesse too and knew they were together. _

Even in my dreams I can never run fast enough. I suppose that's why they're nightmares, because there's no controlling them. Just once, I'd like to get there on time, to reach the playground in the park in the center of town, where I found Jesse and Quinn. Just once, I wish I could control the dream so I could save him and have those precious few moments with him again, even if it was just in my subconscious. But nothing ever changes, no matter how fast I will myself to move or how loud I scream.

"_Quinn! No!" I can already tell that I'm too late. Quinn has her back to my, her shoulders bare, the beautiful white dress she'd chosen for the dance tattered and vibrant with blood. I can see Jesse sprawled in front of her, his tuxedo an unnatural shade of red. When I yell, he turns his head toward me and I can tell it takes great effort for him to move. He almost smiles when he sees me, the fingers on his outstretched hand twitching like he wants to reach out to me. He mouths 'run' before his eyes flutter closed. His neck is torn open, exposing muscle and sinew and blood, so much blood. _

_Quinn stands and turns to face me. Her mouth is red and there is a sated smile on her face. "Jesse offered to walk me to the dance, isn't that sweet?" _

_My vision is blurry with tears. I cannot believe the sight in front of me. "Quinn…why? Why him? Why not someone else?" I rush to Jesse and Quinn doesn't try to stop me. I put my hands on his face, my tears fall onto his skin. It's no use. "Why him?" _

"_It's you and me, Rach." Quinn says. When I look up at her, I can see my friend staring down at me again; her eyes are full of sadness even though the rest of her face is fierce, smiling and pleased. The demon is proud of what it had done and Quinn is heartbroken that she couldn't stop it. "Together forever." _

Four days later, I could feel Quinn stirring, hungry again, ready to feed the demon once more. I was too late to save her latest victim, but this time I had come prepared.

"_Best friends forever, huh?" Quinn snarls as we fall in a tangle of limbs to the ground. Her hand is wrapped tightly around my wrist, trying to break my grip on the knife I smuggled out of my dad's culinary kit. I keep my fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt. "I thought it was you and me! Together forever!" _

"_You killed my boyfriend, you monster!" I scream, my voice hoarse from days of crying and rebelling against the inevitable. I look up at her face, twisted in anger above mine. Quinn is gone and in her place is the demon that has ruined all of our lives. A demon that will never stop, that will continue to eat and kill forever because it will never be full. "You are not my friend." _

_Her fingers loosen just barely but just barely is enough. The knife goes into her chest and her blood is hot against my face and skin and clothes and I open my eyes to see the look in her eyes. Heartbreak, betrayal, shock; it is the face of my best friend again and I have just killed her._

I wake up screaming, tearing at the comforter across my chest and for a minute, I have no idea where I am, nothing looks at all familiar. The bedroom door swings open, filling the room with light from the hallway and I remember where I am; not at home but in Lima, where my family had to flee when I came home covered in blood and told my dads that I had killed Quinn. Her body was never found but the questions were there anyway, even though my dads kept me hidden away, unwilling to let anyone hear the story I was telling: Quinn had killed those boys, Quinn was a demon, I had killed her. Finally, we had run, my dads unable to turn over their little girl to a crazy house or worse.

My dads are here now, sitting on either side of my bed. Daddy takes me into his arms, making soothing noises, stroking my hair. Dad takes my hand and squeezes tightly. This is not the first night they have had to come running when I started screaming in the middle of the night. I know it will not be the last. I close my eyes and tears fall onto my cheeks. My eyelids show me the faces of the those I lost. Jesse. Quinn. My Quinn, not the one who was there in the end. "I'm sorry." I whisper and I don't know if I'm apologizing to them or to my dads. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

><p>The rest of the week goes smoothly, in school at least. Well, aside from the occasional slushie, which I have come to anticipate now. I have extra clothes in my locker so I don't have to come home every day with slushie stains on my clothes. It's easier to convince my dads that all is well that way. I actually find myself looking forward to glee club and not just because I can sit with the majority of my teammates in the lunch table; Noah (which is a much nicer name than Puck, if you ask me), Finn and Mike sit mostly at the jock table with Santana and Brittany but occasionally, I catch both Finn and Noah glancing over at our table. Finn always smiles when he catches my eye but Noah just turns around again without a second glance.<p>

Though I can tell several of the glee club members (Kurt and Mercedes in particular) can't stand to be around me, they at least don't argue when I sit at their lunch table or talk to them before or after class and in the hallways. Having flesh and blood people to talk to is nice because it distracts me from the specter of Quinn, who is so real sometimes I think I might be able to reach out and touch her. Despite trying to keep myself busy with glee and school, she is still there, lurking somewhere in the recesses of my mind, always quick to offer a quip or comment about the goings on in my life. I wonder if she will always be there, if my inability to ignore her ghostly form is punishment for killing my best friend or a residual effect of the connection we have always seemed to share. Either way, it makes me feel a type of lonely that will never be cured.

Finn gives me a ride home from school every day after glee club, which is nice and normal and when my dads find out it makes them happy. Noah sits next to me in English class, which is bothersome because he likes to rearrange my highlighters and doodle in my notebook when he should be listening to the teacher discuss Zora Neale Hurston. But somehow, being teased by Noah makes me feel more normal than those rides with Finn. Noah might not know who I am or where I came from before moving to Lima or anything about Quinn and Jesse and those nights that are constant fodder for my nightmares so it's not like he's making the active choice not to treat me differently because of those things but it's still nice not to be treated like I'm not going to break. Or break down, which is how my dads treat me, in spite of their best efforts to keep everything normal.

Apparently, my normal teenage girl act is having the desired effect because none of my teammates, teachers or classmates seem to be able to sense how different I am from the rest of them (and I'm not just talking about my level of talent or intelligence). Tragedy leaves its mark, it singles out those who manage to live through any type of trauma and usually that stigmata is visible from a hundred yards away. But no one seems to notice that I am hardly as perfect and whole as I try to appear to be (though, in their defense, I have been taking acting classes since I was a toddler) or if they do notice, they don't seem to care.

I wonder if it is that attitude that causes Finn to ask me out on a date Friday afternoon as he is driving me home from my first full week at McKinley High School. Perhaps teenage boys are just willing to ignore anything past gender when it comes to potential dates.

"So…" Finn taps the steering wheel, glancing over at me out of the corner of his eye, "I was wondering if maybe, you know, you might want to catch a movie or something sometime. There's this great restaurant called Breadsticks…if you like…bread."

His request honestly catches me by surprise and I'm not sure if it's just because I'm being naïve or if I really had no idea that Finn might have anything past friendly feelings for me. Did I really think that he was driving me home every day to be a good friend? Or did I just hope that was the case and there wasn't anything deeper there.

"Oh, well, thank you for the offer Finn but this weekend isn't going to work for me. I have to help my dads continue getting our house together." It's not a complete lie but I know my presence wouldn't be necessary, especially if they knew I was skipping family time to go on a date. I wonder how long I am supposed to mourn the loss of the boy who was killed and eaten by my best friend.

One of the things that I truly love about Finn (not 'love' as in the big-L word but love as in… oh you know how I mean) is that he takes everything anyone says at face-value, like he cannot even imagine why someone would want to lie or be deceptive. "Okay, cool, maybe next weekend."

Before I can inform Finn that I had a family trip the following weekend (a blatant lie) a new song starts on the radio and it effectively captures his attention. "I _love_ this song!" He turned up the volume on his radio, nodding his head along with the beat.

I felt my stomach roll over and suddenly felt hot and dizzy. It's not like I've never heard this song before but every time it comes on the radio, it always causes the same reaction. I always want to throw up or punch a wall or tear my hair out, things that I don't normally find myself wanting to do. Soft Shoulder. The band that Quinn had forced me to go see the night that changed everything. Somehow, after Quinn's mysterious transformation from doting daughter and trustworthy friend to murderous boy eating demon, Soft Shoulder had gone through a transformation of their own. They had gone from under-underground band to one of the most popular, multi-platinum selling bands in the country. Coincidence? I think not. So I hardly think that anyone can blame me for having a very strong dislike for Soft Shoulder and any of the songs they put out on the radio.

I reach toward the dash and turn the song down, smiling sweetly at Finn when he gives me a confused look. "Tell me more about Call of Duty." I request, knowing that mentioning the video game that I am certain Finn's life revolves around will be more than enough to distract him from Soft Shoulder and my strange behavior. Finn immediately brightens and launches into a play-by-play of the horrendously violent video game. Boys are fortunately quite predictable.

* * *

><p>I don't think about Finn's invitation to go out until Monday morning, when Noah ambles up to me while I'm retrieving the books that I need for my first few classes. I can only see movement out of the corner of my eye and I flinch, thinking I'm about to get yet another slushie (I'm hoping that eventually that game will grow tiresome) but then Noah laughs and I feel the tension leave my shoulders. "Relax, Berry, it's just me."<p>

I shut my locker door. "You know, some people might not take that as a comfort." I remark.

Noah looks at me like he isn't sure how to respond to that comment or whether he should be offended or just laugh. He opts for a subject change. "So I heard Hudson asked you out on a date." There's a smirk on his face and a sneer in his voice.

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? And what business is that of yours?"

"I also heard you turned him down." Noah avoids my question but I decide not to dwell on that fact. And I also decide not to honor his comment with a response of my own. "He finally start asking too many personal questions, Berry? Like where you used to live and what your middle name is?"

I frown at him, rolling my eyes. "Noah, I don't understand your fascination with my old high school. It was hardly a notable place."

Noah shrugs, leaning against the locker next to mine. I can see the boy who's locker it is hanging back in the hallway, looking like the very idea of even asking Noah to move makes him want to pass out. "In the week that I've known you, I've realized one very important thing about you: you like to talk. You don't ever seem to shut up." I glare at him, figuring I would have been more offended if this wasn't the longest sentence I've heard Noah string together. "But you don't like to talk about yourself. Unless it's involving your like fifty thousand singing competitions or whatever. I figure there's something not right there."

I find it surprisingly that out of everyone I have come into contact with since moving to Lima, that Noah, who makes sure to give off a continuous aura of indifference and hostility, is the only person who has thought to question my continual avoidance of things that involve myself. His comment is pretty spot on, as Jesse or Quinn or anyone else back home could attest to; I was never one to shy away from the subject of me.

"Maybe you're just reading deeper than necessary into irrelevant things." I point out.

Again, Noah shrugs, pushing away from the lockers. "Maybe. Or maybe you've got something to hide."

He lets that statement hang between us as he walks down the hallway, turning his back toward me and rounding a corner. Noah Puckerman you have no idea.

* * *

><p>After three weeks of living in Lima, I almost start to like it. Not Lima per-say because I will never be able to make anything of myself here in this tiny town but my dads seem a little happier and more relaxed and I enjoy glee club and like most of my teammates. It's not better than what I lost but it's a good distraction.<p>

Speaking of distractions, that is exactly what Noah is doing at the moment: distracting me from the choreography that Mr. Schuester is trying to explain. It's far from complicated, it's something I could have done in my pre-school dance class but with Noah trying to mess up my carefully organized sheet music, it's a little difficult to concentrate.

"Come on guys!" Mr. Schuester finally gets fed up with dancing in front of a group of students who clearly are not paying attention. "Are we going to embarrass ourselves at sectionals again this year?"

I give Noah a push and look up at Mr. Schuester. Before I can assure him that there will be no more embarrassments happening now that I'm a part of New Directions, something catches my eye and my words fall flat. Usually, during glee practice, I am usually so focused on singing and dancing and getting the rest of the club in shape that I don't have time to think about Jesse or Quinn. It is the only time of my day when my mind is elsewhere.

But I see Quinn now, standing in the doorway, looking radiant. She looks much more real than the specter that usually haunts me; she is dressed in a flowing white dress and her hair falls in perfect golden ringlets. She looks more like an angel sent from heaven than a teenage killer.

Mr. Schuester looks confused by my expression; he glances over his shoulder to see what I'm staring at. I expect him to turn back toward me, to question why I'm staring off into space but instead he questions, "Can I help you?" His eyes still on the Quinn-ghost in the doorway.

Wait…what?

I look from Quinn to Mr. Schuester and sure enough, he seems to be looking directly at the figure in the doorway. He's addressing her…he can _see_ her? Though I know that it's scientifically impossible for my heart to stop beating and for my body to continue breathing, I am almost certain that my heart has gone still in my chest and all the blood is rushing to my ears because all I hear is that sound that resembles the ocean when you put a shell up to your ear at the beach. And all I can see is Quinn.

"Yes, I was wondering if it would be possible for me to audition?" Through the roaring in my ears I can hear Quinn's voice, the same voice that I've been hearing my entire life and it sounds real and solid and not at all like it does when I imagine her there beside me. "I know it's getting later in the semester but…"

Quinn steps into the room and I can hear her shoes click on the tile and I can smell her perfume, so familiar and comforting. Details that are lost whenever I imagine her or remember what life was like before that night at the bar.

Whatever Mr. Schuester is going to say is lost to me when I feel the world start spinning and it all goes fuzzy around the edges before everything disappears.

"_You're my best friend, right?" Little Quinn asks Little Me as we sit in the sandbox in her backyard, where we retreated after her parents started fighting about the woman down the street. Little Me is good at pretending not to know what they're yelling about, just like Little Quinn is good at pretending it doesn't bother her. Little Me nods enthusiastically. "Promise?" _

"_I promise." Little Me reaches out and puts a hand on Little Quinn's knee. _

_Little Quinn puts her hand over my little hand. "You'll never leave me?" _

"_I'll never leave you." _

I know that I've been known to have a flare for the dramatic but I have never once fainted before when it wasn't called for in a scene. But when the long-forgotten memory of Quinn and I in the sandbox fades and I open my eyes, I find myself lying on the cool tile in the choir room, staring up at the ceiling and several concerned and amused (Kurt and Mercedes) faces. Noah is kneeling closest to me, fanning me with my neatly organized collection of sheet music and ideas on how to improve New Directions. I reach up and push his hand away. "You'll ruin it." I murmur, taking the folder from his hand.

Noah grins and shakes his head. "She's back." He chuckles and his look of annoyance is almost completely overshadowed by something else. Relief?

I try to sit up but Mr. Schuester puts a hand on my shoulder. "Tina went to get the nurse." He tells me. "You shouldn't try to move."

"I'm fine." I assure him. I don't like lying here prone with everyone crowded around me like I'm some sort of invalid. This is not the type of attention I enjoy. "Just a little light headed…" I sit up despite Mr. Schuester's protests. I don't feel light-headed at all, just sick to my stomach and confused.

I feel someone lift my hair off the back of my neck and something cool and damp press against the skin. I relax a little bit. "You should be more careful," a familiar voice admonishes close to my ear and I can feel hot breath on my cheek, "you could have really hurt yourself."

I spin around so quickly I worry about giving myself whiplash and find myself face to face with Quinn Fabray. In the flesh. She smiles pleasantly at me, like nothing in our lives ever changed or got complicated and she didn't turn into a flesh-eating demon and kill my boyfriend. "That's not quite the welcome I was anticipating." She laughs.

"You know her?" Santana questions from somewhere behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see that she is still sitting in her chair, filing her fingernails, completely unmoved by the drama.

"Of course she knows me." Quinn is smiling her beauty-queen smile and as I turn back to face her, I see that Finn and Sam are giving her goofy boy grins in return. "We're best friends." She leans forward and pulls me into a hug.

She is definitely real, she is definitely solid. I cannot feel her heart beating in her chest and when she hugs me, I can smell more than just her perfume, which barely conceals the heavier scent of dirt and something that makes me want to retch.

This cannot be happening. This makes no sense. The last time I saw Quinn she was…I had…her blood…I was the one…I feel like I might faint again because it's all just too much. Nothing makes any sense, my brain is swirling around, almost unable to compute the fact that Quinn is here now, hugging me to her like everything is fine and normal and she was just away at her grandparents' or something equally inane.

I pull away and just stare at her. "What…what are you doing here?" Here in Lima. Here at glee club. Here alive. I can't help but scoot back a little, unable and unwilling to be close to her anymore, not with the smell of death radiating from her. I bump into Noah and am more relieved than I can express that he does not move away.

Quinn is still smiling and I am waiting, praying, to wake up from this nightmare. This one is new and far more cruel than the ones that have come before it. What's next? Will Jesse come waltzing through the door and suggest we open at sectionals with "I Could Have Danced All Night?"

"I missed you, Rach." Quinn says, as though it's just the two of us and not a dozen nosy glee club kids crowding around like we're the week's soap opera. "Didn't you miss me?" In her eyes I can see that thing, the demon inside her, pleased with its continued ability to make my life a living hell.

Wordlessly, I get to my feet and rush from the room. If I stay in here any longer I will do something horribly embarrassing, like cry or throw up or confess everything to these people who have become my friends. Because Quinn cannot be here, she cannot be real. This cannot be happening to me again.

The voice that calls for me to wait is Noah's.

**TBC**


	4. IV

4.

Since glee practice is after school, the hallways and bathrooms are deserted, which is more than I could have asked for at that moment. The last thing I need is to stumble into the bathroom, trying not to completely fall apart and be the focal point of whoever happens to be inside. But no one is waiting on the other side of the bathroom door and I sink to the floor gratefully, not bothering to think about the dirty, disgusting floor and how I'm sure to get a disease just from sitting on the tile (okay, I do think about it but it hardly seems to matter at the moment) and press my face into my hands. How is this happening? Quinn cannot truly be here right now, it just isn't possible. I killed her. I killed my best friend. I had her blood on my hands. Do you have any idea what it's like to have lived the past few weeks thinking that you have murdered your (albeit demon-possessed) best friend only to have her show up during the middle of glee club rehearsal like nothing ever happened at all? I am betting that you do not.

I didn't even realize that I had started crying until I heard the bathroom door creak open and when I lifted my head, I had to hastily wipe at my damp cheeks. Why was I crying? I should be overjoyed. Everything that had gone wrong over the past few months had suddenly been undone. I hadn't killed Quinn, I didn't have to live with that for the rest of my life. Quinn was okay, she had found me again, things could be just like they were before. But I knew that wasn't the truth; things hadn't been undone. Jesse was still dead. Those other boys were still dead. And I had seen it in Quinn's eyes: she was not the girl I had grown up with, that thing still lurked there in her body.

I was shocked to see Noah come walking into the bathroom, his hands stuck in his pockets, looking far too causal. I gape at him. "Noah! You can't be in here!"

He shakes his head, laughing. "Christ, Berry, who's going to care if I'm in the girl's bathroom after school?" He sits down beside me, leaning against the wall and staring straight ahead. I sniff, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand. "You okay?" He questions nonchalantly, still looking straight ahead, like he just happened to walk in here and find me like this.

Suddenly, it means a lot to me that Noah (of all people) came in here to see how I was doing. "Yes." I say in the same practiced tone I have used with my dads for the past several weeks. "I just needed some air."

Noah scoffs and turns to look at me. "If you needed fresh air, the bathroom probably wasn't the best choice." I didn't say anything, focusing instead on the hem of my skirt, which suddenly seems very important. "Who is that Quinn girl anyway?" So much for nonchalant.

How exactly am I supposed to respond to that? How am I supposed to explain who Quinn is and especially my reaction to seeing her again? I could hardly tell Noah the truth, that I thought that Quinn was dead because I had stuck a knife into her heart with my own hands. But I could feel Noah's eyes on me and I knew that this wasn't just going to be one of those questions I could avoid or shrug off and expect him to be okay with my non-answers.

"I…she…she was my best friend, from my old school." I still don't look up at Noah because somehow I just know that whatever lie I'm about to come up with will be easier to tell without looking him in the eye. Noah is quiet, waiting for me to fill his silence with a further explanation for my behavior. "I just wasn't expecting to see her here."

"Seeing your best friend again is a funny reason to like…pass out and shit." Noah points out oh so eloquently.

I lift my head and narrow my eyes at him. "That had nothing to do with seeing Quinn." I retort defensively even though I'm pretty sure that we both know that's a lie. "The ventilation in that room is atrocious, it really isn't good for my vocal chords."

Noah laughs and the sound of it almost makes me feel better. "All right, crazy girl, if you say so." Somehow, when he refers to me as 'crazy' it sounds more like a term of endearment than an insult and I have been called crazy enough times in my life to know the difference. He gets to his feet and holds out his hand to help me up as well. "But you're kind of a shit liar, just so you know."

I pull my hand away from his and give him an indignant look. "I don't know what you're talking about." I smooth down the front of my skirt and move past him, even though I'm not exactly in a hurry to get back to the choir room. Noah is chuckling as he follows behind me but I just ignore him, something I have become quite good at recently.

Of course, the first thing I see when I walk back into the choir room is Quinn, sitting in the middle of my fellow glee-clubbers holding court the way she used to do at Carmel. Everyone loved Quinn because she was one of the few truly popular girls that got her popularity genuinely instead of through terror and poor life choices. She always had several people to talk to in every class, plenty of people who wanted to be around her at lunch or during free period and the best part was that I was the one she chose to spend her lazy Sundays and Friday nights with. Thinking about Quinn, _that_ Quinn, the Quinn that used to paint my toes ten different colors as we watched _Easy A _for the millionth time, the Quinn that used to listen to me practice over and over and over again and who helped me decide what to wear on 'serious' dates with Jesse and who assured me that I wasn't being a high maintenance girlfriend, made me want to start crying all over again or maybe run over to where she sat and pray that there was a little bit of Quinn left in there after all. But I just stand in the doorway, unable to propel myself forward. I can feel Noah behind me but instead of pushing me or uttering some uncalled for comment in my ear, he just stands there, like he knows everything that's going through my mind and he's just waiting for me to decide what to do next. He might be waiting a while, because I have no idea.

Quinn turns her head in my direction and smiles a smile that is one hundred percent the demon living inside of her. It is sly and malicious and full of promise that I'm going to pay for the night I stuck that knife in her heart. "Rachel, I missed you so much." She gets to her feet and moves over to me and I probably would have backed up if it weren't for Noah. She hugs me again and that death smell if powerful in my nose. She squeezes me way too tight and whispers in my ear, "You should have known I'd find you," so low that no one else can hear.

I pull away. "I…I don't understand." That sentence is applicable for many different questions swirling in my brain. I don't understand what you're doing here, I don't understand why you're not dead when I killed you myself, I don't understand how you're standing here when I held you in my lap while you died, I don't understand how any of this happened in the first place, why this had to happen to you and me and Jesse.

Quinn smiles sweetly. "Daddy got a job transfer and I heard from the grapevine that you were at McKinley so I made sure he pulled some strings to get me here too." She takes my hands. "Isn't this great? It can be just like it was before."

I'm not usually one to be speechless, I have a lot of great thoughts and opinions and never hesitate to share them. But Quinn has rendered me speechless now. Not just because of her presence but because of the double meaning in those words and the certainty that I feel that it is not our friendship that she wants to be back to normal but everything that came after, the killing and the fear.

"Quinn was just telling us how long you two have been friends." Kurt pipes up from behind Quinn and I am almost grateful to hear his voice because it takes the attention off of me and Quinn standing up in front of the classroom. "I just can't understand how someone with Quinn's immaculate style was friends with someone who dresses like you for that long." He dissolves into giggles and Mercedes and Tina chime in like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard.

I roll my eyes at him and instantly regret it because of the way Quinn narrows her eyes at him, the way she used to in elementary and middle school when our classmates teased me for pretty much the same reason. Only now she can do a lot more than just excluding Kurt from her social circle; the last boy who teased me and who was on the receiving end of Quinn's look ended up her first meal. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up.

"All right guys," Mr. Schuester finally has decided to regain some sort of control over the classroom and we all turn in his direction, "I think it's pretty safe to say we aren't going to get anything done today. Quinn, you can audition for us tomorrow afternoon, all right?" Quinn nods and gives him her perfect smile. "See you guys tomorrow."

And with that, we are dismissed and I still have no idea what to do, whether or not I'll ever be able to get my feet moving again. I know am I standing there like an idiot but that is hardly my biggest concern at the moment.

Kurt saunters over to Quinn and loops his arm through hers. "Quinn, you have got to tell me what products you use on your face. Your skin is absolutely glowing. You look like a goddess." He fawns over her and it makes me want to throw up all over again and not just because I know something about her that he doesn't.

Quinn smiles at him. "It's my own personal regiment. You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you." She winks at me as she lets Kurt lead her into the hallway with Mercedes, Tina and Artie following after them.

Finn walks over to me, handing me the backpack that I had left stashed under my chair. "Ready?" He questions, flashing me that boyish smile.

I clear my throat. "Sure." I turn around to thank Noah for checking on me earlier but he is already heading down the hallway, his shoulders bent and his hands stuck in his pockets.

Throughout the drive home, Finn questions me about Quinn in a way that many boys have done before him. Clearly, he has forgotten about the way he sort-of asked me to go out with him several days before because it seems as though his world suddenly completely revolves around Quinn. He is not the first guy to see her as his sun. In spite of the fact that Quinn had guys chasing after her since she was in kindergarten, she never settled down with any one of them, dating around or seeming perfectly satisfied with flirting. It had been a surprise when my relationship with Jesse proved to be more long lasting than any of Quinn's; I'd always just assumed she would find some high school golden boy and settle into being Carmel's golden couple. A quarter back or basketball star. Someone exactly like Finn, now that I'm thinking about it.

I field Finn's questions as best as I can because the last thing I need is for Finn to go sniffing after Quinn. Knowing Quinn, she'd make him her first snack. I roll down the window to feel the breeze on my cheeks, hoping the fresh air will take away the rolling nausea I feel every time I think about what the guys looked like after Quinn had finished with them. Some idiot high school blogger had managed to get pictures and splashed them all over the Internet and the fact that I knew that my best friend was responsible only made the pictures even harder to look at. Maybe I should just tell Finn the truth, tell him he has to stay away from Quinn at all costs. But he would think I was completely crazy; if my own parents think that about me, I can only imagine the level of craziness that a barely-friend would attribute to my story.

Finn pulls into my driveway and I unbuckle, pausing before I open the door. "Finn just…promise me that you're going to stay away from Quinn." I say, watching him closely.

Finn gives me a look that a puppy might give if you were trying to explain quadratic equations to it: goofy, cute and clueless. "Why? I thought Quinn was, like, your best friend."

I step around that statement, because that's a whole different issue all together. "She just…she has this way with using guys only to get what she wants and just throwing them aside." Finn is still looking at me like he's trying really hard to get my meaning. "It's like she…chews up their hearts and spits them out." Okay, that metaphor might be a little too apt and graphic.

Finn grins at me. "Okay, Rachel, I'll be careful. See you tomorrow, okay?" I can tell he's placating me, which is nothing new but is more infuriating than usual because this is something important and not just Rachel-Berry-Crazy. But, of course, I can't explain any of that to him, which is just frustrating.

I hop out of the car and head to my front door, not bothering to turn and wave at Finn as he pulls out of the driveway. Instead, I just lock the door behind me and go into the kitchen, getting a glass of ice water and sitting down at the kitchen table to start on my homework. I just need something to take my mind off the whole Quinn situation.

* * *

><p>At dinner, my dads can tell that something is bothering me but they don't ask me about it, which is a first. Whenever I come home from school anything less than myself, they are ready to have a full-on family meeting about my day. But tonight they just act like everything is fine, chatting about work and complimenting me on the chicken parmesan I made when doing my homework wasn't enough of a distraction. I do the dishes, shower and join my dads on the couch to watch <em>Pride and Prejudice <em>because it's on TV and they love Colin Firth. Daddy has his arm around my shoulders and I tuck myself against his side, letting myself feel safe and protected for the time being. Now that Quinn is back, I know that won't last but it's a good feeling for now.

After the movie is over and the lights have been turned off and I triple-check that the front door is locked (you can never be too careful about safety), I head upstairs to my room, wondering what type of nightmares I'll encounter tonight, especially now that Quinn is back. I flick on the light and scream because sitting right in the middle of my bed is Quinn with that same sly smile on her face.

"Jesus Rachel, you look like you've seen a ghost." Quinn laughs, looking pleased with herself.

My bedroom door swings open and Quinn moves so fast it's not natural (surprise) and is out of sight before my dads even step foot into my room. Daddy takes me in his arms like he's going to physically protect me from whatever caused me to scream, while Dad looks around with panic on his face. There is nothing to see. "What's wrong bear?" Dad questions, turning to face me. "What happened?"

I swallow, taking a ragged breath. "I…I thought I saw something. It must have just been a shadow." I look at my dads and want to cry because they look worried not just about me in this moment but every day. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scream. I'm sorry to have scared you."

Daddy kisses my forehead and gives me a tight hug. "It's okay bear."

Daddy turns and leaves the room and Dad hesitates in the doorway, giving my room another once over like he doesn't quite believe my story. What would he do if he saw Quinn, crouched in whatever hiding place she's wedged into? "I know things have been tough on you, honey, with Jesse and Quinn and the move." He says when he turns to look back at me. "But everything will be okay. You'll be okay again." He pauses. "Right?"

I hug him tightly, pressing my face against his chest. "Right Dad. Goodnight, I love you." He repeats the words and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

I turn around to see Quinn slide out from underneath my bed, laughing. "You'll be okay, right honey." She mocks my dad and I want to slap her across the face.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest. "I want you to leave right now."

Quinn laughs again, shaking her head. "I thought you'd be a little happier to see me, especially because the last time you saw me you were sticking a knife in my heart." She has a look of mock sadness on her face and puts her hand over her chest. "I'm hurt, Rachel. Of course, not literarily because that's impossible. But I guess you only really know who your true friends are after they try and kill you."

I feel anger rising up inside of me and I want to grab Quinn and strangle her, never mind what she just said about her being hurt being an impossibility. "You…you want to talk about being a true friend? You _killed_ my _boyfriend_. What kind of friend does that!" I try to keep myself from yelling because the last thing I need is to bring my dads back in here.

Quinn smirks and shrugs, studying her nails. "The heart wants what the heart wants…" But she doesn't pat her heart, her hands rest on her stomach instead.

I shake my head, sitting on the edge of my bed because I don't think my legs can hold me up anymore. I close my eyes and see Jesse lying there on the ground, his eyes looking at me one last time, his neck torn and bleeding. I open them again to find Quinn staring at me. "I thought I killed you. I thought…" I want to cry again and this time because I thought I killed my best friend and here she is, standing right in front of me. A part of me, however sick and small, is happy to see her.

Quinn shrugs. "You did, but I got better." She remarks, twirling her hair around her finger. "I guess I'm pretty much unstoppable. I'm not human, Rachel, remember, we already went through this." She comes to sit beside me. "Unless I'm hungry, then I feel horrible and…normal."

I can't bring myself to look at her. "So that's it? You never die? You just go around eating people forever?" I can feel Quinn shrug. "What are you doing here, Quinn? Why did you come here?"

Quinn puts an arm over my shoulder and I don't even think to push her away. "I thought we were best friends forever." Her tone is teasing and now I do shrug her arm off. "Besides, after you ran through town telling people you killed me, I couldn't exactly start walking around Carmel again could I? I'm a little surprised your dads picked a shit-hole like Lima but there are a lot of tasty looking boys here, aren't there?" I look up in time to see her lick her lips.

I get to my feet. "You need to leave Quinn. Leave me alone, leave Lima. These people are my friends, I'm not going to let you hurt them."

Quinn laughs, throwing her head back like it's the funniest thing she's ever heard. "How are you going to stop me? You didn't exactly care when I was eating our graduating class back at Carmel." She gets to her feet in one fast, fluid motion. "You can't do anything to stop me, Rachel, you're nothing." There is a darkness in her eyes, in her voice, that I have never seen before.

I return her stare. "I'll tell everyone about you."

Again, Quinn laughs like she's never heard anyone as funny as me. "Okay, sure. And when they lock you away I'll have my pick of these small-town losers. Like, what's his name? That Finn boy who gives you rides home?" She licks her lips again. I wonder how long she's been here in Lima, just watching me. The thought sends a chill up my spine. "He looks delicious." She used to say the same thing about boys she thought were cute but now it's taken on a whole new meaning. "You seem to have moved on quickly. What would Jesse think?"

"Stay away from him." My breath hitches in my throat when she mentions Jesse but I refuse to let her see that she is causing me to feel something other than anger. I might as well give up that idea, though, because Quinn can read me better than anyone. "Just leave Quinn, just get out."

Quinn flips her hair over her shoulder and heads over to the window. "I'll see you tomorrow Rachel." She says in a sing-songy voice before she disappears out the open window.

I rush to slam the pane shut behind her and lock it. It doesn't matter though, because it doesn't really make me feel that safe anymore.

**TBC**


	5. V

**A/N**: Thank you guys so much for all your awesome reviews! It's great to see other "Jennifer's Body" fans out there! Sorry this update was a long time coming, I promise to be better next time!

5.

I thought about faking sick the next morning. I thought about telling my dads that it was safe for us to return home, that we could resume our lives after this bump in the road because the danger was gone. But, in the end, I knew that avoiding the situation wasn't going to solve it. I knew that I could run as far and as fast as I could but I was the problem and I couldn't outrun the monster that was after me. The only thing I could do was hope that Finn would heed my warning and stay away from Quinn. I could be proactive, more proactive than I had been before, when I had been so confused and convinced that pretending that the killings and what was happening to Quinn were unconnected would make it true. I refused to believe that what Quinn had said the night before was true, that there was no way to hurt or kill her. I might have failed the first time but I was Rachel Berry, after all, and I always try at something until I got it exactly right. It was one of my more endearing qualities (though some might disagree).

Unfortunately, I quickly discover that Finn has not heeded my warning. He is standing at Quinn's locker, practically drooling on her adorable flats, that puppy-dog smile on his face. Finn is not alone in his adoration. Sam is also standing close by, as well as two other members from the football team and Kurt, though at least I know the latter is not interested in her physical appearance (outside what she is wearing, of course).

Quinn is leaning against the lockers, smiling and laughing and twisting her ponytail around her finger and looking completely at home among their stares and attempts to jockey for her attention. I pass by the gaggle, staring down at my feet to avoid glancing over at Quinn but I can't keep my eyes away for long. As I stand at my locker, I feel my gaze shift in their direction, like I cannot keep from staring. Quinn catches my eye instantaneously and moves closer to Finn, resting her hand on his chest and fluttering her eyelashes at him. She could devour him right there in the middle of the hall and her other suitors would probably beg to be next.

"Isn't that against girl code or whatever?" I hear a voice over my shoulder and don't have to turn around to know the question has come from Noah.

I look away from Quinn, focusing my attention on the contents of my perfectly organized locker. "I don't know what you mean."

"I thought you were like losing your shit for Finn or whatever." I turn to look at Noah, offended by his phrasing but he just continues on. "Aren't best friends supposed to like…respect boundaries. I don't know, fuck, I'm not a girl."

I scoff, shaking my head. "Quinn hardly cares about boundaries." I remark, slamming my locker door shut.

Noah is silent for a second but I should know better than to think that means that he's just going to drop the subject. "You know, if I didn't know any better, Berry, I would say that there's something more going on with you and Quinn then you want to let on." He smirks. "But you don't keep secrets, do you?"

"I hardly understand why you have such a fascination with my life, Noah." I shake my head, not bothering to glance over my shoulder to see if he's following me as I walk down the hall. I don't want to risk seeing Quinn and her gaggle of unsuspecting devotees.

Besides, I have known Noah long enough to know that he's still right there behind me. "You're not a girl who's used to keeping secrets, are you Berry?" He doesn't wait for a response. "You wear it all over your face, like you're practically begging someone to ask you what's going on in that crazy-girl head of yours."

I stop abruptly and turn to face him; Noah just barely manages to avoid barreling into me, looking surprised by my sudden about-face. "What makes you think that if I _did _have a secret that I want would to tell you what it was and even if I _did_ tell you that you would even believe what I had to say?" I arch an eyebrow. Noah doesn't respond. "Huh?" Of course, I am not really considering telling Noah about Quinn and Jesse and every strange and completely unrealistic thing that happened to us but I have to admit that the thought (however fleeting) is nice to consider. I have no reason to trust Noah from anyone else and I definitely have no reason to trust him more than my own parents and nothing about his indifferent exterior screams trustworthy.

"Try me." Noah says and there is no smirk in his voice or smile on his lips. The idea pops into my mind again and doesn't seem as crazy as it did ten seconds ago.

But I still shake my head. "I have to get to class." I turn and hurry away and this time I know that Noah is not following after me.

Yesterday, glee rehearsal was a welcome part of my day, a refuge, a sanctuary where I could be who I was before and could lose myself in the music. Today, I know that I will see Quinn there and that those sinister smiles she gives me while being fawned on by members of the male gender will be nothing more than promises of more violence and horror to come. Usually, I am early to glee, hurrying there right after the final bell to both avoid a slushie to the face and to run my list of ideas by Mr. Schuester. He has yet to see the wisdom in my suggestions but it's only been three weeks. But those ideas hardly seem important today, not when there is (for once) a problem bigger than Finn's inability to remember choreography or Kurt's inability to hit a high F. I reorganize my locker and think in detail about the books and binders I need to take home for the afternoon's work. But I know that I can't put off glee practice forever and maybe I should spend less time with my head shoved in my locker and more time trying to figure out how to get rid of Quinn and protect the people who have (whether they like it or not) become my friends.

I am one of the last people to walk into rehearsal. Only Santana and Brittany are still absent and I know that's only because they like to pretend they are fixing their hair and make-up until everyone else has gone so there are no witnesses when they stroll into the choir room. Quinn is leaning against the piano, talking to Mr. Schuester, who is giving her the rapt attention he never affords me. The way he is looking at Quinn is highly inappropriate, if you ask me and between Mr. Schuester's goo-goo eyes and the way that Finn, Sam, Mike and Artie are staring at Quinn's backside in her skirt I am not sure who to be more disgusted with. I sit down beside Noah with a huff, refusing to glance over in his direction lest he take that as an indicator that I wish to engage in conversation when I really just want to fake sick to get out of glee practice for the first time in my career in the arts. Noah, wisely, does not say anything, just keeps tapping his foot impatiently like he is eager to begin today's practice. Something we can agree on.

When Brittany and Santana saunter into the choir room, Mr. Schuester finally pulls his eyes away from Quinn and straightens up, clearing his throat. The two cheerleaders take their seats and Brittany promptly begins braiding Santana's hair while the other girl pulls out a magazine. Honestly, no wonder they haven't ever won anything.

"Okay guys, we're going to start today off with Quinn showing us what she's got." I think Quinn has already done that, Mr. Schuester. "Quinn, take it away." He gestures for her to stand front and center in the choir room.

Quinn smiles that ironic angelic smile and requests the pianist to begin playing. Quinn wasn't in glee at Carmel, choosing instead to focus her after school time on drill team so I know that her interest in joining New Directions has nothing to do with her love of singing. Quinn had a pretty decent voice but one she never showed off, choosing instead to sing along with Ke$ha or Katy Perry on the radio or in her church's choir, which her mother used to direct. However, I somehow doubt that after the display I just witnessed, talent is necessary for Quinn to get into New Directions.

Quinn's song of choice: "I'll Say a Little Prayer." How appropriate. I know that the irony is not lost on Quinn and is, in fact, intentional because every time she gets to the chorus and sings, "I'll say a little prayer for you," she points to Finn, Sam and Mr. Schuester, which they, of course, completely eat up and which makes me a little sick. Someone needs to be doing a lot of praying on their behalf if Quinn has got her sights set on them and I know from experience that prayers are not going to help the situation.

When Quinn finishes, everyone applauds and it's obvious that she has found her place in the club. She smiles and goes to sit between Santana and Brittany, who are enthusiastic about her presence. Honestly, is there anyone who _doesn't_ love Quinn?

"You were way better." Noah whispers in my ear and I feel my cheeks flush pleasantly at his compliment. I guess I have my answer.

Mr. Schuester resumes his spot at the front of the classroom. "Excellent, Quinn, New Directions can certainly benefit from having your voice." Perhaps. But New Directions will certainly not benefit when Quinn starts eating the male members. "All right, guys, we're getting closer to Sectionals, so it's time to start putting together our set list. I think that one thing we should include is a duet, which is why, your assignment for the next two weeks is to find a partner and arrange a duet, which you'll perform in two weeks. The pair with the best duet will be our opening number at Sectionals." He grins proudly, like he's expecting the club the start jumping for joy at his little homework assignment. At least he is being proactive about planning for Sectionals this year and I have to admit that a duet is usually a good way to win the judges over. Jesse and I always excelled in this area; the judges loved us.

Finn and Sam both turn around in their seats to face Quinn, practically talking over one another to beg her to be their duet partner. I'm surprised they don't start wrestling right there in the middle of the choir room to prove which of them is more manly.

"That's low, even for Hudson's gold-fish attention span." Noah remarks and I turn to face him, trying to figure out what on earth he is talking about. He tilts his chin in the direction of Quinn and her desperate duet partners. "Guy was practically begging to take you out and now he's only got eyes for the beauty queen."

"Teenage boys are fickle, Noah, and I am hardly concerned with being the object of Finn's affection." I inform him frankly. Which is true; I'm more concerned with keeping Finn away from Quinn and clearly Quinn is attracting him like a moth to a flame.

Noah laughs, shaking his head. "That's a lot of two dollar words, Berry." He shrugs. "So you want to do this duet shit together? Schue's all about these lame-ass after school assignments."

"Choosing a set list for competitions is very important, Noah." I inform him indignantly. "I can't partner with someone who does not take that seriously."

Noah holds up his hands in defeat. "Look, I take it seriously, okay. I know we could rock the hell out of some Lady Antebellum."

I never pictured Noah as the type to listen to and enjoy country music. "I think a Broadway classic might be more suited for this type of competition."

Noah rolls his eyes. "Whatever you say, crazy." But he has a smile on his face so I know for sure he doesn't mean it as an insult.

It is no surprise when Quinn selects Finn to be her duet partner, though she spends the majority of the time Mr. Schuester has allotted for planning leaning over her chair and flirting with Sam. Finn doesn't seem to notice how she's batting her eyelashes or resting her hand on Sam's knee so the arrangement seems to be working for everyone, except for Santana, who is glowering at Quinn for monopolizing her partner's attention. Quinn is also monopolizing the majority of my attention, unfortunately, because I find myself spending more time trying to figure out if Finn or Sam is in more immediate danger than trying to pick a duet for Noah and I.

At the end of practice, Noah suggests, "Look, why don't you just come over to my place and we can figure it out? I've got a guitar, so we can practice some stuff."

I nod, watching Quinn and Sam leave the choir room arm and arm. A bad feeling settles into the pit of my stomach. "Yes, Noah, after school practice is an excellent idea."

Noah grumbles, "Practice _after_ practice," but since it was _his_ idea, I hardly put any stock into his words.

While Noah gathers up his things, I head over to where Finn is to inform him that Noah is going to be giving me a ride that afternoon. Finn gives me that goofy grin as he gets to his feet. "Hey, Rach, listen-"

"I thought you were going to stay away from Quinn." I blurt before I even realize that I was planning on bringing her into conversation at all. Finn stares at me blankly and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head, trying to remember when he said such a thing. "You said you were going to be careful around her." I amend. "And now she's your duet partner?"

Finn purses his lips and glances around before putting his hand on the small of my back and guiding me over to the corner of the practice room. I raise an eyebrow. "Listen, Rachel," his voice is low, like he's about to confide some deep dark secret, "I understand what's going on and I'm sorry, okay? I know I was probably sending you…mixed signals or whatever but I…I think you're a great person and a good friend…or whatever…" It's almost as though such a lengthy sentence about his inner-most feelings is difficult for Finn to piece together. "I didn't mean to, like, hurt your feelings or whatever."

I blink at him before his meaning slowly dawns on me. He thinks that my concern for his well-being is simply me trying to disguise my jealousy. If I weren't so surprised by his insinuates, I would probably laugh in his face. I would be lying if I said that I didn't find Finn attractive in an All-American, boy-next-door sort of way but my mind and heart are still so conflicted over Jesse that my feelings for Finn never progressed past noting his physical appearance. And sure, maybe on those afternoons when he was giving me a ride home, I let myself think about how, maybe, a few months from now, I could see myself as his girlfriend but I hardly harbor the type of feelings Finn seems to think that I do.

"No, Finn, that's not…" I shake my head, unsure of how to phrase this without completely wounding his fragile male ego, "I think you're a good friend as well and I can assure you that my concern over your relationship with Quinn has nothing to do with jealousy."

Finn lays a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, Rachel, you don't have to be embarrassed." I roll my eyes at him because it is very clear that nothing I'm going to say (or have said before) is going to get through to him. "I know it's weird because Quinn is like your best friend and everything but I really feel like we have this connection…"

I pull away from his hand, shaking my head. "You don't have anything with Quinn. She is not the person you seem to think that she is." How Finn can have any impression on her after knowing her for an entire day is beyond me but, then again, Quinn has always been a boy magnet and her supernatural powers or whatever is going on only seem to be helping that fact.

I turn away from Finn before I can say something that I would regret, such as _I hope you enjoy it when she tears out your heart and eats it_. Not exactly the type of thing to declare in the middle of the choir room. Instead, I just head back over to Noah, who has a very amused look on his face, which I chose not to acknowledge. It seems as though I am the only one around with enough sense to know that this whole thing is not a laughing matter.

**TBC**


	6. VI

**A/N: **You guys are all completely amazing! Thank you so much for all of your awesome reviews. I'm glad that this story is inspiring people to watch _Jennifer's Body_ because it really is a great movie! I hope that you guys continue to enjoy and let me know what you think! The songs/artist mentioned in this chapter obviously do not belong to me. If you don't recognize this artist or the songs you really, _really_ need to change that because his work is amazing!

6.

We drive to Noah's house in almost complete silence. The only time either of us speak is when Noah tells me not to touch his radio, which is perfectly fine with me because my mind is far away from the cab of his truck. I keep thinking about Sam and Quinn, how they had left the choir room together and how there was a hunger in Quinn's eyes that was far from normal. Should I try to call Sam and warn him? Of course, I don't have his number but perhaps Noah does. Would Sam even believe me? Quinn would have him and the entire glee club convinced that I was completely crazy in less than five minutes.

"You think too much." Noah remarks, his words startling me out of my reverie. Somehow, we have already reached his house and he is putting his truck into park. "I can practically hear your mind going a mile a minute."

"You cannot." I inform him irately, opening the door and hopping out of the truck cab. "That's scientifically impossible."

Noah laughs, unlocking the front door. "You got a lot going on up there, Berry." He taps the side of my head and I stare up at him. "Is there any room left for this duet? Maybe _I _should find another partner, someone who takes this seriously."

I give him a playful shove and he laughs again. "Maybe I'm thinking about the duet." I point out, raising an eyebrow.

"If you're thinking that hard about singing then you need to unwind more than I thought." He starts toward the stairs, pausing on the third one when he realizes that I'm still standing by the door. "Aren't you coming?"

I hesitate. Of course I've been alone in a house with a boy in his room before but that boy was Jesse and we had been dating for quite some time. Maybe I should have thought into Noah's intentions a little more before agreeing to go to his house for an afterschool practice. Then again, maybe I'm thinking _too much_ into Noah's intentions by assuming they're less than honorable. After all, Noah has never given me any reason over the past three weeks to think that we're forging anything more than a friendship.

"You're thinking too much again Berry." Noah interrupts and I blink at him. "C'mon." He starts back up the stairs again and this time I follow after him.

Noah's room is a lot tidier than I would have expected from a teenage boy but, that being said, it is still not exactly clean. There are clothes on the floor and a few dirty plates stacked on his desk, which has papers scattered across it. His bed is unmade and there's a pile of folded clothes sitting on the floor by the nightstand. I make a face. "How can you concentrate in here?"

Noah gathers up a pile of clothes and tosses them in a hamper but it doesn't do much to improve the ambiance. "You're welcome to clean up." He remarks, his voice both teasing and slightly irritated, like he doesn't appreciate the fact that I walked into his room and started critiquing it. And maybe that was a little rude but _still_ this is hardly a work space conducive to concentrating.

I straighten the sheets on his bed and then sit down on the edge for lack of anywhere else to sit. Noah raises an eyebrow but, wisely, doesn't say anything about my choice. He reaches underneath the bed and pulls out a guitar case, handling it with a care that I did not expect. Clearly, this is something that is important to him, something he cares a lot of about and I feel like the indifferent persona I usually see him give off in school is falling away ever so slightly.

Noah pulls out the guitar and plucks a few strings, tilting his head and listening to the vibrations that fill the room. He starts tuning the instrument, his eyes narrowed in concentration. I cannot help but watch him, feeling something flutter in my chest. He reminds me so much of Jesse in this moment: his single-minded concentration, the way that what he is doing seems to be a part of him, like his fingers move on some instinct of their own. I want to reach over to him, just to make sure that he is real and not Jesse, not just another figment of my imagination, but I doubt I would be able to explain my sudden desire to touch him.

"What songs do you know?" I question, just to dispel the silence from the room and shake the thoughts from my head.

Noah looks up. "Some Harrison, Morrison, little bit of Zeppelin. I don't know a lot of girly shit though." He shrugs and I roll my eyes. "But I can teach myself to play pretty much anything." He starts strumming the chords absently but his absent strumming quickly forms into a recognizable tune.

My face lights up. "I _love_ this song." I scoot closer to him on the edge of the bed, as though I need to be physically closer to the music coming from his guitar. "Bon Iver is such a brilliant musician. I'm surprised you know it." And "Blood Bank" is my favorite of his.

Noah shrugs but doesn't stop playing. "Normally I'm not into that indie shit, it's too whiny. But Bon Iver is pretty awesome." He keeps playing, almost like he's waiting for something, humming under his breath. It only seems right to start singing along and a ghost of a smile appears on Noah's face when I do, as though that was what he was waiting for.

His eyes lift to mine when I sing the words _that secret that you know, that you don't know how to tell_ and I wonder if he chose this song on purpose after all. Towards the end of the song, he adds his voice to mine softly, creating a perfect harmony that sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. It is clear that Noah was the right person to partner with; a good duet partner isn't an easy thing to come by but the way our voices weave together is close to perfect and I'm glad that I took him up on his suggestion.

I'm a little sad when the song is over, the way I always am when good music reaches its end; a good song is like a good person, it can work its way into your chest and take root there until it becomes a part of you and it almost physically hurts to be separated from it. It's how I felt (feel?) about Quinn and Jesse, like they were the perfect melody that I can only remember some of. Will I ever feel that way about anyone else? Noah quickly retunes his guitar and starts with "Skinny Love" and as I watch him play, I wonder if maybe I don't already have my answer.

We sing together again and I can't keep from watching his fingers as they pluck out the complicated melody and I wonder if it was his own interest or the urging of someone else that prompted him to learn this song. The idea of him playing this song for another girl in his room makes my stomach roll and I'm not entirely sure what to make of the sensation.

Noah grins proudly after the noise from the last chord dies away. "Too bad that's not a duet, we would totally have this thing in the bag. You have an amazing voice, Berry." Again, I feel my cheeks get hot, like I've never been complicated about my singing ability before. I've been hearing those words since I was five years old but suddenly I don't have to fake modesty when I hear them from Noah.

"You're very talented too, Noah." I assure him. "Your guitar playing is excellent. Who taught you to play?"

His face closes up slightly and he sets the guitar carefully down on the bed beside him, so there is now nothing between us but a bit of empty air. "After my dad left, I spent a lot of time at Finn's just to get away from everything, you know?" I watch his face carefully. "Finn's dad was dead and I guess the guitar was his. Finn always wanted to learn to play it but he was too, I dunno, uncoordinated or impatient to learn. When his mom found out I was playing it, she gave it to me instead. It gave me something else to focus on when I was at home."

I rest my hand on his knee. "Noah-"

He shrugs. "It's whatever." The indifferent persona has returned and I know that if I try to press the issue he won't be very open to discussing it any further. "You pick a song yet?"

I have never been one to accept deliberate subject changes but I figure this time I can make an exception. "Not yet, but after hearing you sing I have a better idea of which songs would be best suited for our voices." His question reminds me of something he said earlier and I hear myself asking, "Do you really think I need to unwind?"

Noah looks at me blankly and I can tell that he is confused by my train of thought. He puts the pieces together and I can see comprehension flash across his face. "You're just a little uptight. You got a lot on your mind, you need to relax a little bit."

"Oh." My mouth goes dry when I realize just how close we are. An inch to my left and I could easily kiss him. Why am I thinking about kissing him? Should I be thinking about kissing him? Now that I've thought that, it's suddenly all I want to do, like I'll never be able to get that idea out of my head. I've never thought about kissing Noah before but suddenly I feel like I'm with a completely different person, one who can let the walls down a little, who can let music speak for him. That is the person I suddenly cannot stop thinking about kissing. "I don't-"

Noah shifts closer and I exhale at the thought of what's about to come next. I close my eyes and suddenly-

Suddenly I'm not in my own head at all anymore. It's like I'm somewhere else, like I'm someone else, seeing through a different pair of eyes. I can see trees, a pine-needle covered ground, leaves and branches and I can smell the sharp air, the scents of the plants all around. And I can see Sam, smiling at something, walking close beside the person who's eyes have suddenly become mine. Quinn. It has to be Quinn. Sam stops walking and turns to face me/Quinn.

I open my eyes but it's not use, the images do not go away. I can barely hear Noah calling my name, he sounds like he's miles away and like I'm underwater, trying desperately to get to the surface but knowing that I'm never going to make it on time. I curl my fingers tightly around his bedspread, trying to ground myself but I can barely feel the fabric, like my hands are not my own.

"So what did you want to show me?" Sam is asking, looking at Quinn with a bit of naivety and expectance, like he's hoping he knows the reason that Quinn suggested this little walk in the woods but he's too much of a gentleman to assume.

Quinn steps closer and I see her hands reach out, slipping around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Her hands are not my own either because when I try to force them away, to push Sam away, all she does is pull him closer. "You'll see." Quinn thrills, sing-songy and Sam smiles.

Their faces are so close that their lips could meet at any second but suddenly my gaze shifts from Sam's face and to his throat. It is Quinn's gaze to focuses on the vein there, on what she knows is just beneath the surface. Suddenly, there is blood and Sam is screaming and I can hear my own voice screaming, that underwater quality echoing in my ears and it's all happening so fast and Sam is falling to his knees, staring up at Quinn, his hand pressed to his throat but there is no to stop all that blood and it's too late, it's too late. Quinn descends on him and I can almost feel the sense of satisfaction, the warmth filling her stomach.

"Rachel!" There is a sharp sting on my face and suddenly when I open my eyes again I find myself staring up at Noah, his hand raised slightly, a look of fear and confusion on his face. He inches back slightly when he sees my eyes focus on him and I tell myself that it's just to give me some space, that he's not about to run out the door. Though, I could hardly blame him if he did. I don't even want to imagine what I looked like to him just now. "Rachel?"

I'm breathing heavily, my chest heaving like I just attempted to run a marathon and I realize that there are tears on my cheeks. My palms are sore from where my fingers dug into my skin. I sit up slowly and Noah reaches out a hand to steady me.

I think I might throw up, which would really be the icing on top of this wonderful afternoon. I exhale slowly and finally let my eyes slide over to Noah, who is looking more than a little bit freaked out, which I cannot blame him for. "Could you get me a glass of water?" My voice is wobbly and unfamiliar, even to my own ears.

Noah gets up quickly and heads out of the bedroom and I'm sure he's just as relieved as I am to have a little bit of space. I have no idea what to say, how to explain whatever sight he just witnessed. I don't even want to think about what it looked like to him but that only seems so important. Even with my eyes open I can see Sam the way that Quinn saw him, like he was food and she couldn't wait to sink her teeth into him. And there was just so much blood and I can smell it in my nose, hot and irony.

I'm glad that I noticed the bathroom on the way up the stairs because I only just barely make it there, pushing open the door and kneeling in front of the toilet before I get sick. Whatever just happened, whatever thread connects me to Quinn has now made me privy to her murderous impulses in ways I never wanted to be. As impossible as it seems, I know that what I saw was real that Sam, poor Sam, is dead somewhere in the woods, ravaged by the demon that stole my best friend. Even after I get to my feet, washing my face in the sink and rinsing my mouth out, I can still smell the blood and I wonder if it will ever go away.

Noah is sitting on the edge of his bed, tuning his guitar just for something to do and when I step back into his room he looks up and I can't read the expression in his face. There's worry there, to be certain, but there's something else, a wariness that I can tell he's trying to decide whether or not to listen to. I bet he's wondering about all those times he called me crazy. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe none of this is real.

Noah picks up the water glass and holds it out to me, a gesture which I feel is partly to keep me from continuing to stand awkwardly in his door. I take the water and sip gratefully; my throat burns and my mouth is unpleasantly dry.

After a beat of silence, Noah questions, "You're not going to tell me what happened, are you?"

When did I become this person? The type of person who was constantly trying to figure out how to lie to everyone and avoid talking to myself at all costs. I suppose that happened when I became the person who's best friend was killed and possessed by a demon who has to eat members of the opposite sex in order to survive. I hope that you can understand where the lying comes in.

But what exactly am I supposed to tell Noah? I can't possibly tell him the truth about Quinn. I can't explain how I saw Sam, how I know that he's dead. "I'm sorry." I say softly, staring down at the water glass in my hands. "I just…I understand if you'd like to find someone else to work on the duet with."

Noah gets to his feet, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, Berry, this isn't about a duet!" He practically shouts, staring at me. "Do you need to go to the hospital? What the fuck just happened?"

I stare at him. "Noah, please don't curse at me." He just scoffs, shaking his head again. "I'm fine, I don't need a doctor. I just…if you could please take me home I would really appreciate it."

For a minute, Noah just stares at me and I can see frustration on his face and still that worry and it makes me want to tell him everything. Would it be so bad, just to tell the complete and honest truth? Maybe he would be more understanding than my dads. But then he's moving toward his door and the moment is over and I feel relieved, partly because I know that telling him would have been a mistake.

I follow him down the stairs, gathering my bag from where I left it by the door. The uncomfortable silence in his truck is only broken when I tell him which streets to turn down and yet, when he pulls into the driveway behind Dad's BMW, I don't rush to get out of the car. My fingers rest on the handle but I angle my body toward Noah, who has his gaze fixed straight out the windshield. "Thank you for the ride home, Noah." I say politely and he doesn't even bother to grunt in response. "And I am sorry. That wasn't quite how I saw the afternoon going." We didn't even settle on a duet.

Noah laughs and finally turns to look at me. "Me neither." I can't help but wonder exactly what _he_ had in mind. I think about the almost kiss and suddenly it takes conscious effort not to look down at his lips, to imagine what it would have felt like to have them on my mine, all over my skin…these thoughts, I swear. "You're going to need to talk about it sometime, Berry." He's no longer smiling, his face serious, his eyes staring into mine.

I fake a smile, looking away from his eyes. "You'd think I was crazy." I say softly.

"I already do." Noah assures me and I can tell he's only just a little bit kidding this time. But that's all right.

**TBC**


	7. VII

**A/N: **Thanks for all the great reviews, you guys are really awesome! I love seeing the familiar "faces" as well as all the new ones! I'm glad that some of you have started listening to Bon Iver; he really is a great musician! Anyways, thanks for the reviews, hope you enjoy this chapter too!

7.

Daddy practically jumps me the second I walk into the door. He's smiling like I haven't seen him smile in a long time (cue the guilt trip) and he pulls me into a hug that almost crushes the breath right out of me. I'm too confused to even smile. On one hand, I'm glad that he seems so happy because it _has_ been a while but on the other hand, I'm completely confused as to what is going on.

"Honey, I'm so glad you're home." Daddy says when he pulls away, keeping his arms around me. "You're never going to guess who's here!"

Daddy drags me into the kitchen, where I can hear Dad laughing and can smell Daddy's special spaghetti sauce cooking on the stove. Daddy's spaghetti was always Quinn's favorite and…wait a second…

And there is Quinn, standing in the kitchen, laughing with my dad like no time has passed since the last time they saw each other. Quinn isn't wearing the outfit she wore to school that morning and I know it's because the other clothes are probably now unwearable because they're covered in blood. Sam's blood. Quinn turns and beams at me, looking positively radiant. She has this glow about her, her hair seems the most perfect shade of gold and her lips seem fuller, her cheeks flushed rosy. These are the results of her human diet. I think I'm going to be sick all over again.

I don't even know what to say. What can I say? I think about the night that I "killed" Quinn and I came stumbling into the living room, where Dad and Daddy were sitting on the couch watching television. They hadn't even been aware that I'd left the house (which had been nearly impossible, because they were keeping a hawk-eye on me since Jesse died) and they both nearly had heart-attacks when I came stumbling through the front door covered in blood. Daddy was about to carry me off to the hospital himself until I told them what I had done, that the blood wasn't mine. My confession had stopped them cold and they had cleaned me off themselves, throwing my clothes away without a second thought. They watched the news for days but nothing about Quinn ever appeared on television; there was no body, nothing to corroborate the story that I had told them. When Quinn's parents and, later, the police came knocking on our door, asking questions about Quinn's absence, my dads lied effortlessly, saying that they hadn't seen her in weeks. Pretty soon after that, we were packing up our stuff and moving to Lima.

"Surprised?" Quinn questions, moving away from Dad and in my direction. "I just couldn't help myself. I missed you guys so much!" She throws her arms over my shoulders and that smell rushes back full force: blood, dirt, death.

"Rachel, why didn't you tell us about…Quinn?" Dad questions tentatively, like he knows he's treading on thin ice and caution is most important.

I stare at him over her shoulder. _Help me Dad,_ I want to say and I pray that he sees it in my eyes, _I need you_. But he's just looking at me hopefully, looking just as happy as Daddy that Quinn is standing in our kitchen right now. Her reappearance solves all their problems, it takes away the burden of a crazy (possibly murderous) daughter. "I…"

"She didn't know." Quinn lies effortlessly, pulling away from me and turning to face Dad. "I wanted to surprise her."

"I'd say you surprised all of us." Daddy laughs and I can see some of the tension has left his body. If only things really were as simple as they so badly want to believe. It's like they're more than willing to pretend like that night never happened, that I never came home covered in blood and swearing it was Quinn's. How can they believe it when here she is now, looking more perfect than ever before? "Where have you been, Quinn, your parents have been really worried about you." No questions about how she found us in Lima or in the house or where her parents are now. Questions like that should be avoided.

Quinn just shrugs, sitting down at the kitchen table like she did so many times throughout our lives. Even in this different kitchen, she looks like she belongs here. "Things got tough at home, I just couldn't deal anymore. I had to get away. I didn't mean to worry anyone." She looks up at me, her expression mockingly tender. "I knew Rachel would cover for me."

I can't even look at my dads. It's completely inane but I briefly find myself wishing that Noah were here; he is the only one who so far doesn't seem to be swayed or impressed by Quinn and her charms.

An uncomfortable silence settles over the kitchen and I just stare at Quinn to avoid the fact that my dads are staring at me. They don't know what to think now; have I been covering for a friend this whole time, have I known where Quinn was and willingly let them pick up their lives and move and start over? Or is there something more going on? I hope they believe the latter because I don't want to consider the alternative.

"Why don't you girls go in the living room and catch up?" Daddy suggests to diffuse the tension. "We'll call you when dinner is ready."

For lack of anything better to do, I go with Quinn into the living room and sit on the couch like we're about to gossip about our days. She tucks her legs underneath her as she sits, looking like she's ready for a slumber party, like she's going to offer to do my hair and nails.

"You killed Sam." I say without preamble because, really, what are the point of pleasantries? I think we're a little bit beyond that. "You _killed_ him."

If the fact that I already know about Sam's death is surprising to her, Quinn doesn't show it. Maybe it's not a coincidence that I saw what she did, maybe she wanted it that way. "I had to, I was getting weak again." She pouts. "It happens so much faster now than it used to. Maybe it has something to do with you sticking a knife in my chest." She shrugs. "I'm willing to let bygones be bygones though, Rach. What's a little blood between friends?"

"I am not your friend." I hiss, batting aside her hand when she reaches out to me. "I can't believe you did that. I can't believe you killed him. How could you, Quinn? He was nice, he liked you."

Quinn shrugs. "That only makes it easier. Boys are such idiots, aren't they? They're so trusting." She twists her hair around her finger. "So what did you tell your dads about me anyway? They practically shit a brick when I rang the doorbell."

I glare at her. "I told them you were dead. I told them I killed you."

Quinn gapes me. "God, what kind of a teenager are you? Don't you know how to lie? Jesus Rachel, didn't I teach you anything?" She shakes her head like she's disgusted with me.

"I think I've been lying plenty, thank you very much." I retort. "And that hardly matters Quinn! Get out of my house, I don't ever want to see you here again. And if you don't leave Lima, I'm going to tell someone, I _promise_."

Quinn seems to think my threat is just as empty now as it was last night. "Okay, sure, go right ahead. Tell everything that I'm a demon who eats boys. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?" I refuse to back down and I narrow my eyes, squaring my jaw. Quinn rolls her eyes. "Fine, go right ahead. You know, your dads and I were talking about you, how we're worried for your mental state. You haven't quite been acting like yourself since Jesse died." I feel myself tense. "Which is understandable. Losing a boyfriend under those circumstances can't be easy…"

"Get out!" I scream, no longer caring about whether or not my dads can hear us. Tears prick my eyes and all I can see is Jesse. She knew how it would hurt me to bring him up, to hear her talk so causally about him when she's the only reason that he's not here now. I don't even care that I've risen to her bait, it hardly seems important. "Get out right now Quinn or I swear I will kill you again."

Daddy comes rushing into the living room. "Is everything okay, girls?" He questions nervously, looking back and forth between the two of us.

Quinn stares at me for a minute before getting to her feet. "Everything's cool, Mr. B." She assures him. "I just remembered I can't stay dinner after all. Maybe next time." Daddy doesn't try to stop her as she walks to the front door and slams it shut behind her.

"Bear…" Daddy starts, moving over toward me.

I get to my feet. "I'm going to my room." I ignore his hurt and confused look, hurrying up the stairs and locking the door behind me. I walk over to the window and make sure it's still locked but that doesn't make me feel better or safer because Quinn has made it painfully clear that if she wants to get to me, she can do it easily. I feel selfish for even worrying about myself, however, because I know that it isn't me that Quinn wants, at least not in the same way that she wants the male members of McKinley High School.

Sam. He was one of the more welcoming members of glee club; he always offered me a seat next to him at lunch when Kurt and Mercedes made it obvious that there wasn't any room near them and Tina and Artie and he offered to lend me his notes so I could catch up in history. And I know it's only a matter of time before they find him, or what's left of him, lying there torn and ruined in the woods.

I crawl into bed without bothering to change out of my blouse and skirt and press my face against my pillow. It's barely dark outside but I just want to sleep so that everything goes away, though I know that's a feeble thought. Because my subconscious never lets me forget and tonight I have a whole new film strip of images to dream to.

* * *

><p>Sam isn't in school the next morning. It might be some form of self-induced torture, waiting by his locker, hoping to see him but I stand there anyway, even after the warning bell rings and people start scampering off to class. I scan the hallways for his face, wondering why I am doing this to myself. Did I hope that Jesse would come back? Every time my phone went off, did I pray it was a message from him? No, putting my hands on his face while he died pretty much stopped me from hoping. So why am I doing it now with Sam?<p>

In history, I stare at his empty seat. I wince when the teacher calls his name and marks him absent. In English, I ignore Noah when he sits down next to me and he doesn't try to pass me notes during lecture or tease me while I'm trying to pay attention. When class is over, he gets up a leaves without a glance back and suddenly I want to call after him, to beg him not to treat me this way. But I don't and I don't blame him because yesterday and how I acted afterward is more than off-putting.

During calculus, Santana and Brittany's phones start buzzing simultaneously and several other phones start chirping seconds later. The teacher turns away from the board, a glower on his face. "Anything with an off switch should be off." He growls, looking at the students in his class. Several more phones beep and he rolls his eyes. "Anyone want to share what's going on?"

"Holy shit." Santana looks up from the display on her phone. "They just found Sam Evans dead in the woods. Shit." She slumps back in her seat.

At her words, the class dissolves into murmurs that the teacher doesn't even bother trying to control. He seems just as taken aback by Santana's words as the students who didn't get the mass text did. One girl in the front of the classroom starts crying and has to excuse herself to go to the bathroom. I hide my face in my hands, trying to shut out everything that is going on around me. I can't help but see Sam in those last seconds of his life, smiling at Quinn, trusting her, never imagining that there was a reason that he shouldn't.

By lunch, Sam's death is all anyone can talk about. The news has spread throughout the entire school and if I didn't know exactly what happened to Sam, I would seriously doubt the words that are going around. Everyone is talking not just about Sam's death but the way that he was found, looking like he'd been savaged by some sort of wild animal. His throat was torn out, his stomach ravaged open but there were no wild animal tracks around, no signs of a struggle, no explanation to why he was out there in the first place.

Quinn is sitting at the glee club table when I walk into the lunch room, her face a mask of sorrow and Kurt and Mercedes are sitting on either side of her, patting her back comfortingly. It makes me sick. I sit at the table on auto-pilot but don't bother to take out my lunch.

"I don't understand what happened." Quinn is sniffing, shaking her head. "He gave me a ride home and said…he said he'd see me tomorrow." There are tears in her eyes. I can't believe it.

"It's okay, Quinn." Kurt says soothingly, no doubt enjoying being the one to offer Quinn support. "Sometimes bad things happen to beautiful people."

Quinn starts sniffing again and I just can't take it anymore. I get to my feet and turn around and abruptly smack into Noah, who reaches out to steady me. I blink up at him in surprise and he puts his hand on my elbow, pulling me away from the table and the questioning eyes of the glee clubbers who aren't single-mindedly focused on Quinn. "Can I talk to you?" Noah questions softly and I stare at him because we already are talking and he rolls his eyes and adds, "In, like, private or whatever."

We end up in the choir room, which is empty because Mr. Schuester is teaching Spanish and the rest of the school pretty much ignores that this room even exists. "Are you all right?" Noah questions, running his hand along his mohawk and staring down at his feet like he finds this line of questioning uncomfortable. "I mean yesterday and now this shit with Sam…"

I sit down in one of the plastic chairs and fold my hands in my lap. "I'm fine Noah." I'm much better at lying than I used to be. "I feel horrible about what happened to Sam. How are you? You knew him better than I did."

Noah sits down beside me, flopping down in the chair like it's too much energy to stand up anymore. "I just keep thinking about his Mom. And, shit, he's got these two little brothers…" My fingers curl into my palm, digging into the skin like they did yesterday. "I just wanted to check on you." Clearly, Noah does not want to focus on how _he_ feels about what happened to Sam.

I look over at him. "That's very sweet of you Noah." He just shrugs and mutters "whatever" in a noncommittal way. And why am I suddenly thinking about that (non-existent) kiss again? It seems wildly inappropriate to be thinking about that given the circumstances. But still, the idea of kissing Noah, of imagining what it would feel like to have his lips against mine, to have his hands…thoughts like that hover in the forefront of my mind, right there with thoughts about what to do about Quinn.

Glee club and all after-school activities are canceled that afternoon. The last period of the day is also canceled by Principal Figgins, who decides to hold an assembly instead and forces Ms. Pillsbury to talk about grief-counseling and appropriate ways to handle grief and other things that make her look uncomfortable. Principal Figgins talks about not going anywhere alone and how important the buddy system is and how we need to be aware of our surroundings and not go wandering off in the woods alone and how we need to stay away from drugs and alcohol. I'm not entirely sure what that has to do with Sam but it seems to make Principal Figgins feel better to throw that in anyway.

After the assembly, I duck into the bathroom to avoid Quinn, who has achieved a bit of celebrity because it has come out that she was the last person to see Sam alive aside from the person who killed him (oh the verbal irony), and also to avoid Noah and Finn and Principal Figgins' stupid buddy system idea. I want to assure the McKinley student body that they're all safe for the next few days, at least, unless they're an attractive male and in that case they might as well hide in their bedrooms until another classmate drops dead. And the cycle begins again. Because that's what I have realized: it's never going to stop, Quinn is going to keep killing and feeding until the gap between when she needs to replenish her strength grows smaller and she's killing every day. If I don't tell someone about Quinn, then she becomes my responsibility. I should have done something when she first showed up in Lima and now it's too late for Sam. I can't let that happen again.

When I'm sure McKinley is empty of anyone who might be interested in talking to me, I head out of school and in the direction of the public library. It's a relatively short walk and I've never been one to balk at a little exercise. The library is mostly empty, aside from an elderly librarian behind the check-out counter and a mother reading picture books to her two young children. The emptiness of the building doesn't surprise me because I can hardly imagine my classmates venturing here after school and it's much better this way because I don't want to have to worry about bumping into anyone and having to explain why I'm in the paranormal section and not the performing arts area.

There aren't many books to be found in the section, so I take them all, going to sit in the back corner of the library. I set aside the ones dealing strictly with ghosts (it's chilling to think that the idea of hauntings and supernatural beings doesn't seem so ridiculous to me anymore) and flip open one dealing with demonic possession. The pictures on the first several pages are both chilling and grotesque and I want to slam the cover shut again and go back outside into the sunlight. But I know this is where I need to start looking.

_"Quinn," I cry, clutching at my friend as she stands in my bedroom, dirty and bloody but somehow serene and perfect at the same time, "please, just tell me what's going on. I can help you, just tell me…" _

_ Quinn pushes me aside and goes to sit down on my bed, which doesn't even bother me even though she's filthy, and leans against the headboard. I crawl over to her, desperate to know what's been going on for the first several weeks. Ever since she went off with those Soft Shoulder losers she just hasn't been the same, something is wrong and, even though it makes me feel sick and a little bit stupid, I know that it has something to do with the guys that have been killed recently. Something is wrong with Quinn and she won't tell me enough to help her. _

_ "It's really crazy, Rach." Quinn says softly, shaking her head. "I need…I don't want to…" She shakes her head, trailing off. When she speaks again, the softness is gone and her voice is hard and steely. "Remember that night with Soft Shoulder? When I went off with them?" _

_ I scoff. "Uh, yeah, I remember." How could I forget? And now I know that that night has something to do with what's happening to Quinn and I feel guilt surge up in my chest again. I let her go with them, I should have fought harder to stop her. And now whatever she says next is my fault. _

_ "Well, at first I just thought we were going to, like, get a six pack and they were going to try and convince me to fool around or something. But they drove into the woods, like way deep into the woods and started talking about demons and rituals and…seriously, it was some crazy shit. They had all these books in their van, stuff about the devil and…I don't even know." Quinn shrugs and shakes her head. "Anyway, they parked the van and make me walk, through the woods, to this clearing thing. They basically told me they were going to sacrifice me to Satan to become famous." _

_ "What?" I gape at her, incredulous. It's almost hard to believe what she's saying but there's something in her eyes, something that tells me that what she's saying is true. _

_ Quinn ignores my outburst. "I tried to get away but the lead singer he was…mean, angry…he was rough and he was just too strong." I reach out to take her hands but she doesn't respond. "They held me down. They started chanting to Satan, something about sacrificing a virgin…which is crazy, you know, because I haven't been a virgin since eighth grade." She rolls her eyes. "They had this knife and…" _

_ "Quinn…" I don't know what to say. What do you say in this situation. "They…they killed you…" It sounds crazy, beyond insane, because clearly she is sitting right next to me. _

_ "I'm here, aren't I?" Quinn stares at me like I'm a complete idiot. "I mean, I should have died. I blacked out for a while, everything just hurt _so much_ but when I woke up…they were gone and I felt…good." She pauses. "But, not perfect. I felt weak and I was…I was so hungry Rachel. I tried to walk home but I just felt so weak…I passed Ronnie Miller, you know from the track team?" I nod wordlessly. "He was out jogging. And suddenly…I knew what I had to do." Ronnie Miller had been found dead weeks ago, the reportedly victim of a bear attack. "And I felt stronger, I felt _awesome_. I looked awesome. Ever since then…" _

_ "Jonas Kozelle and…Colin Gray…" I stare at her. The blood, the dirt, it all makes since now and I know what she has been doing. "Quinn…" _

_ "I just get so hungry." Quinn grabs my hands tightly all of the suddenly and I jump. "It's like I can't control it, Rachel, it's like there's something inside of me and it's getting stronger and…it's just so hungry." The Quinn that is looking at me in that moment, begging me to help her, she's the closest thing I have seen to my friend since that night at the bar._

_ "Quinn…" She pulls away suddenly, abruptly and the darkness closes off her eyes again. She slides off my bed and shakes her head, moving for the window. "Forget it. Just forget it." She pushes open the window and jumps out, landing gracefully on the ground below. She disappears into the shadows and I just stare after her. _

The next morning they found Chip Dove in the same state that they had found Ronnie and Jonas and Colin before him. Next week, Jesse was dead. The rest you know, if you have been reading prior to this moment. Which I hope that you have because otherwise, my story might seem both completely ridiculous and hard to believe, like some bad teen horror movie. But I can assure you, I'm not crazy and I don't tell whoppers. Hopefully, you've learned that by now.

When Quinn first told me the story of that night, about what Soft Shoulder had done to her, I was too confused and in shock to do anything about it. But now, with these books spread out in front of me, I realize that I only have myself to blame for what happened to Jesse and to Sam. I knew it was Quinn, I knew what she was doing, what she had done. But she was my best friend and despite what she had told me that night, I still loved her with all of my heart and wasn't sure what to do about her confession. My love for her and my hesitation to act makes me just as guilty as she is.

Somewhere in this book is hopefully the information I need to stop Quinn before she feeds again. Because who knows who her next victim will be. Though, whether I want to consciously admit it or not, I have a pretty good idea.

**TBC**


	8. VIII

**A/N: **You guys are great! I love your feedback and I hope you continue to enjoy!

8.

The rest of the week seems surreal and everything is done under the cloud of Sam's death. We still meet for glee practice but not a whole lot of practicing is going on. Mr. Schuester encourages us to sing songs about how we feel and Santana sings an original song she wrote for Sam called "Trouty Mouth" and I can't decide whether or not to be offended or amused (Noah is the only one who isn't able to completely suppress a chuckle). No one brings up Sectionals or the duet, aside from Noah who briefly mentions practicing again, which I suppose means that he has forgiven me for my bizarre behavior on Tuesday.

Friday afternoon, people start talking about things that aren't Sam again, namely what is going to be happening that weekend. "So, basically, we just get together at Mike's and play against people all over the world." Finn is telling me as I stuff books and notebooks into my backpack. "It's pretty cool. I'm pretty good at playing, I got to level ten the other day." He shrugs nonchalantly, like he's being humble about this "accomplishment" and expects me to be equally as impressed. "So you should come."

I shut my locker and look at Finn. "Thank you for the invitation but-"

Quinn slides up to Finn, seeming to have appeared from nowhere, tucking herself under his arm. Finn looks both surprised by her sudden appearance and pleased. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything." Quinn says in a voice that states that her words are a complete lie. "Santana told me about this party that one of the cheerleaders is having tonight and I think we should go." She blinks up at Finn, fluttering her eyelashes at him. "What do you think, Finny?" Finny, seriously? It's enough to make me want to brain myself with my locker door. It's barely been a week and she's got a pet name for him? I wonder if she had pet names for the other guys she devoured? Suddenly, it's not so funny anymore.

Finn glances over at me. "Oh, well, Quinn, I don't really know…" I can tell that he's just trying to be polite, that he doesn't want to accept Quinn's invitation right in front of my face when ten seconds ago he was inviting me to do something with him (and several other guys, true, but still).

I feel my back stiffen. If Finn goes to that party with Quinn, who knows what will happen to him. She still looks bright-eyed and rosy cheeked from…because of Sam but I know it's only a matter of time before she needs to feed again and if she has Finn in her clutches then there won't be a thing he can do to stop her.

"Actually, Quinn, Finn was just inviting me to this interesting video game tournament that Mike Chang is having at his house tonight and I think I'm going to-"

Quinn quickly interrupts. "Yawn, boring. Who cares about video games?" She raises an eyebrow. "You should come too Rachel, it'll be fun! Just like it used to be." I can tell she's mocking me because she knows that the last thing I want to do is go to a party hosted by some slutty cheerleader who makes fun of my skirts and knee socks. Okay, that's not entirely true; the _last_ thing I want to do is go to that party with _her_.

I shake my head. "I don't think that's really my type of party." I look up at Finn entreatingly but he's staring down at his feet.

Quinn makes a face. "Boo, I'm crossing you out Rachel." She draws that x in the air in front of me and it's a little hard to breathe, not just because a part of me still can't stand to have Quinn disappointed in my lack of enthusiasm for her ideas but because it's not fair, it's just not right for this demon to have Quinn's body and her memories. Because, in moments like this, I'm nearly tricked into believing to my friend is still there, somewhere, that there's still a chance for her, that I can help her, but I know that isn't true and that makes it all the harder to deal with.

I blink away the tears that have suddenly stung my eyes. "Finn…?" I forget what I'm going to say and his name comes out like a question, like I'm hoping that he chooses me over Quinn. It sounds sad and pathetic, even to my own ears, so far from the way I really feel about the situation. It has nothing to do with my personal feelings toward Finn and everything to do with the need to keep him as far away from Quinn as possible. Of course, they are both making that very difficult.

Finn clears his throat and won't stop looking at his shoes. "The party could be fun, Rachel…"

I can tell by the triumphant look in Quinn's eyes that she has also misinterpreted my tone for something more than concern and it's like we're in fifth grade again and she's suddenly started like Joey Jordan because I said I liked him. Or sixth grade when she played Seven Minutes in Heaven with Parker Prescott after I'd admitted to liking him after we'd worked on a class project together. Or like when she killed Jesse. Quinn was always a good friend to me but clearly, in this one area, she was lacking those boundaries that Noah was talking about.

I slam my locker shut harder than I intended (okay, not exactly) and glare up at Finn. "Go to the party if you want, Finn. But don't say I didn't warn you." I inform him frankly, flipping my hair over my shoulder, turning on my heel and marching down the hallway. Honestly, how can you save someone too stupid to realize that they're in trouble?

I head for the choir room even though it's Friday because since Finn has stopped driving me home (thanks to Quinn, who has the sudden need to monopolize Finn's after school time), I've been relying on my fathers to pick me up after school. Unfortunately, I forgot to mention that there isn't glee after school on Fridays, so I know I have a few hours to kill before Daddy is off work.

As I expected, the choir room is empty but, thankfully, not locked and I pop my head into Mr. Schuester's office just to make sure that I won't be interrupting anything. Of course, the office is empty, though I'm sure that Mr. Schuester could benefit by spending a little time after school going over the set lists and rehearsal schedules.

I sit down at the piano and start plunking the keys without a melody in mind. Since we left home, I haven't had the time to find a new dance studio in Lima, nor have I had the chance to find a vocal coach and new piano teacher. It hasn't seemed important until now, because singing reminded me of Jesse and how strange and unwelcoming the world was without him in it. But now, I think that it might be time to immerse myself in the arts once more, because music has the ability to heal faster and more deeply than any other force on the planet. I'm sure Jesse would agree.

Of course, thinking about Jesse always leads to thoughts about Quinn and how she's just as dead as he is, even if she's up walking around. And thinking about Quinn prompts me to start thinking about Finn and how he's in the middle of Quinn's cat and mouse game without even realizing it. Though, to be fair, I don't think he's the mouse in her game; I am. She's toying with me, making it clear that she has Finn in her clutches and making me wait with bated breath to see when she's going to strike. Even though I pains me to admit it, I know that I won't be able to save Finn, not if Quinn really wants him. I couldn't save Jesse, it's foolish to think that I can save anyone at all.

Since the mood seems to call for it, I start playing The Band Perry's "If I Die Young," simply because I can appreciate the ironic melancholia of the words. I've never considered myself a country fan, but The Band Perry is one band I do appreciate, simply just because I enjoy Kimberly Perry's soft vocals (she's not quite the powerhouse but I do enjoy singing along without having to belt out the lyrics from time to time). However, I have always wondered what prompted her to pen a song about dying before the end of her teenage years; before what happened to Quinn and Jesse, I never would have contemplated my own death. Now, it just seems like the most appropriate song to play.

"I told you we would rock the hell out of some country." I whirl around on the bench, my fingers barely finished playing the last notes, my heart jumping into my throat, to find Noah leaning in the doorway, a smile on his face.

"Noah!" I exhale slowly, shaking my head. "Please don't sneak up on me like that." I think I've had my fair share of startles over the past few days (weeks, months, take your pick). "What are you doing here? How long were you standing there?"

Noah shrugs and moves into the choir room. "I was getting something from my locker and I heard you start playing. The song was kickass Berry."

I feel my cheeks color. "Thank you, Noah. I didn't know I had an audience."

"That's probably why it was so good." He remarks and sits down on the piano bench beside me. I think about his words, wondering if there might be some truth in them after all. "How long have you been playing?" His fingers trip across several keys.

"Since I was five." I inform him, resting my fingers against the keys but not pressing down. "Daddy loves the piano."

Noah looks over at me. "You know, you still don't talk about yourself. I feel like I have to trick you into divulging personal information."

I straighten my back. "That's not true." Though I know it is, from the few times he tried to ask me about Quinn and Carmel and what I did before moving to Lima. That's hardly the same thing as asking about my training in the arts, however.

Noah just shrugs. "So what are you doing here? You know we don't have practice Fridays, right?" Of course I know this, despite the fact that I have been lobbying for a change in the schedule.

"Waiting for Daddy to get off work." I reply, waiting Noah's fingers as they move across the keys, playing around, making sounds instead of music.

Noah raises an eyebrow. "What happened to Prince Charming?" I stare at him. "I thought Finn was your ride, or whatever."

I wrinkle my nose without realizing it. "He's with Quinn."

There is a pause of silence and I wish I knew what Noah was thinking. Has he, too, misinterpreted my concern and friendship for Finn to mean something more? Granted, my tone did sound a little bitter, even to my own ears, but it's only because my efforts to protect Finn from Quinn have been frustratingly unsuccessful. Noah gets to his feet and picks up my backpack. "Call your dad, I'll take you home." He offers. Well, not so much offers but informs me because he's already walking down the door with my bag.

I get to my feet. "Noah, you don't have to do that. Daddy doesn't mind." But even as I'm saying this, I'm following him out the door to the choir room. Only to get my backpack, of course. Though, I do have to admit, getting a ride home from Noah is preferable to sitting around for three hours waiting for Daddy to pull up.

"Berry, don't be stupid." I let out a huff at his words. "We can talk about the duet." He teases and I can tell he just says this because he thinks it'll be enough to convince me. Though, he does have a point, it is important to discuss our song choice, especially since we haven't practiced together since Tuesday afternoon. A day I try not to remember in too much detail.

As soon as Noah starts his truck, the radio blares on and I hear that stupid Soft Shoulder song that the radio stations can't seem to get enough of playing. The night that Quinn and I went and saw them and everything changed comes rushing back and it's hard to enjoy a song when you know that the lead singer of the band scarified your best friend to the Devil for fame and fortune and turned her into a boy-eating demon. I let out an exasperated, strangled noise and Noah looks over at me and raises an eyebrow. "I…I really hate this song." I mumble and Noah reaches over and changes the station.

"Yeah," he agrees with a nod, "guy seems like a prick."

I scoff, shaking my head and looking at the window. "You have no idea." I can tell that Noah desperately wants to ask me to elaborate but he manages not to ask and I'm surprised by how appreciative I am of his silence. I think it's that gratitude that makes me add, "I saw them in concert once. If you could even call it that." I mutter the last words but I feel like they're apropos because can you really call six songs in a stupid bar that doesn't even card a concert? Unlikely.

"Why do I have a feeling that Quinn figures into this story somehow?" Noah questions, glancing over at me, which is unsettling because his eyes _should_ be on the road.

I purse my lips. "Quinn and I used to do everything together." I point out. "It's only natural that she would play a role in most of the stories I have to tell."

Noah is quiet for a minute but I can tell that he's not done with the subject of Quinn (unfortunately). My suspicion proves right when he says, "You don't act like she's your best friend. You act like you can't even stand to be in the same room with her," it a way that is both a statement and a question that he's hoping I'll answer.

I sigh, shaking my head. "Quinn isn't the same person that she was." My voice is soft and I'm looking at my hands and thinking again about that night, when I let her get into that van. If I had just been more forceful, if I had done everything I could to stop her, nothing would have changed. Quinn might have been mad but she would have gotten over it. She wouldn't have died that night because some idiots didn't have an ounce of talent and marketability in their bones. Jesse would still be alive, Sam would still be alive. If only I hadn't just let Quinn walk away. "There's a lot you don't know. About her." I add this last part because suddenly answering questions about Quinn seems much easier than answering them about myself.

Somehow, we have already made it to my house. Noah's sense of direction is impeccable, because he made the drive without needing my input once. Noah puts the truck in park but doesn't say anything and somehow I can sense that he's not quite ready for me to leave. I don't move to open the door either because I'm not quite ready for me to leave. Why is it that I feel like I can tell Noah anything about Quinn and Jesse and everything that's happened over the past few months? I've only known him for three weeks and though I'm sure there's not exactly a time limit on telling someone that the new girl in school is possessed by a demon, I have a feeling that it's longer than three weeks. But there's something about Noah…maybe it's the way that he acts when we're together, like he doesn't have anything to prove or maybe it's the way that he told me, even off-handedly, about his father and let me glimpse a childhood I can tell he isn't fond of talking about. Whatever the reason, I have to bite my tongue to keep telling him exactly what he doesn't know about Quinn.

Noah opens his mouth and I say, "Thank you for the ride," quickly just so he can't get out whatever promise he's about to give me about listening and understanding. Beside I just might believe him if he says it; I might take his words at face value and let myself believe that even if my dads don't believe me, maybe Noah might.

I turn away and reach over to open the door; Noah reaches over and puts his fingers around my wrist, a light pressure that makes me stop what I'm doing. My skin feels hot where he's touching me and why am I suddenly thinking about the afternoon in his bedroom all over again? Why am I wishing that he was closer to me, that we weren't sitting in his truck in my driveway, why am I wondering whether or not he could heat up my entire body with his hands? My cheeks get hot, I guess that's proof that he certainly could.

I blink at Noah, unsure of what I should be doing or saying, if anything at all. He looks like he wants to say something (or do something) but he lets go of my wrist as quickly as he grabbed it and turns away. "Have a good weekend, Berry." His voice is low, almost dismissive, like he's disappointed in something, though I'm not sure if that something is me, my lack of communication or himself.

I get out of the truck and head to my front door. I unlock the door and turn around to wave but Noah's already pulling out of the driveway, so I don't know if he sees me or not. My wrist still feels hot where he touched me and I think about Jesse and feel a pang of guilt in my chest. Jesse and I had known each other our whole lives, practically; we had been in the same tap and vocal classes since we were three years old. He was always the third Musketeer to Quinn and I's group but it wasn't until a year ago that we even tried to give dating a try. It just seemed natural; we had so much in common, we enjoyed spending time together, even without Quinn and we both lived and breathed music. We communicated through music better than through conversation and there was no doubt that I loved him and that I would have been completely in love with him if we'd been given the chance. Having Quinn take him away was like having someone ripping out a piece of my heart and thinking about him now makes that hole ache all over again in a way that lets me know it might never stop hurting. But…Jesse never made my skin burn with a single touch, he never let his eyes burn into mine the way that Noah does and I feel guilty for comparing the two of them. Jesse is dead, he was my boyfriend and Noah is just a friend. No need for comparisons.

**TBC**


	9. IX

9.

Finn texts me Saturday morning, an abbreviated comment about how the party Quinn invited him to wasn't all that fun. I'm sure he means it to be almost apologetic, like he's trying to assure me that I didn't miss anything by deciding not to go but it doesn't make me feel much of anything aside from relief over the fact that Quinn didn't kill and eat him last night. But that feeling of relief quickly turns to one of foreboding and I feel fingers of ice slide down my spine. I am the mouse in this game, I am the one being played with; Quinn knows that I know that her intentions with Finn are far from innocent and she's enjoying making me wonder when the ball is going to drop. But, at the same time, her procrastination fills me with a little bit of hope; she might think she's playing with me but she's giving me the time to figure out how to stop her once and for all.

I spend the weekend helping Dad with his upcoming cases and helping Daddy decide how he should decorate their bedroom. They don't ask why I'm spending my weekend doing homework and devoting all my time to them and they don't ask where Quinn is and why they haven't seen her since the beginning of the week and I really love them for that. Even though they've been more light-hearted since Quinn's reappearance, like they no longer have the burden of hiding a murderous daughter on their chests, they don't act like they find it weird that Quinn and I are in the same place and not together. That hasn't happened since we were three years old.

The week progresses almost like normal, as though there is nothing out of the ordinary in my high school experience. Quinn is still the center of attention but at least she's not (currently) eating any of her suitors, though Finn is still spending too much time with her for my liking. Maybe I should purchase some pepper spray or a gun for him to carry around with him. In glee, Mr. Schuester is allocating most of the class time to rehearsing for the duet project, turning us over to 'independent study' as though he's still unsure of how to conduct the group without Sam's presence. Noah and I have yet to decide on a song ("I'm not singing any of that prissy Broadway shit," he so eloquently informed me Monday) and my attention is often distracted by watching Finn and Quinn rehearse the song they have chosen: "Lucky." Which I think is just another one of life's ironies because Finn is anything but lucky.

Wednesday morning, I notice a definite change in Quinn's appearance and demeanor. Her skin has lost the resonating glow and her hair hangs stringy and limp from the ponytail she has it pulled back in. There are bags under her eyes like she hasn't been sleeping and she doesn't even bother to smile when Kurt compliments her outfit and Mercedes fawns over her boots. She is sluggish and listless and no one mentions the change, as though they are too afraid to do anything to insult Queen Quinn. I meet her eyes across the lunch table and smirk when she narrows her eyes at me. We both know it's not a lapse in beauty regimen that has caused the change.

At that afternoon's glee practice, I overhear Quinn talking with Brittany and Santana about joining the Cheerios, which twists my stomach into knots. If Quinn is signing up for after school activities, that means she plans on sticking around Lima for a prolonged period of time. Instantly, I feel like an idiot. Of course she is planning on staying in Lima, that was always her plan. Lima is where I am and she's not going to carry out her reign of terror somewhere where I can't be witness to it.

Quinn leaves with Brittany and Santana and the football players after practice and I make small talk with Daddy on the drive home, my thoughts turning toward the research I need to do when we get home. It has nothing to do with school work and everything to do with Quinn and stopping her before she can hurt anyone else and take up permanent residence in Lima. I can feel that time is running out now; I wonder if I am still connected to Quinn somehow and if the sudden anxiety and restlessness is from her and not myself. Either way, I can't shake the feelings.

I'm surprised when, shortly before dinner, my phone starts ringing and Noah's name flashes on the screen. I gave him my number so he could contact me when he had ideas about the duet but somehow I have the feeling that he isn't calling to talk about glee club.

"Berry, your friend is really starting to freak me out." Noah says without preamble.

I raise an eyebrow even though I know that he can't see me. I close the webpage about demonic possession I was carefully reading so that I can give him my full attention. "What are you talking about, Noah?" I question.

"There's something wrong with Quinn."

His words surprise me. "You have no idea how true that is." I say without thinking about my words and quickly question, "What makes you say that?" just so he won't ask me to elaborate.

Noah is silent for a minute and I wonder if he's gathering his thoughts or changing his mind about calling me in the first place. "We were at practice, right? And Quinn was going over some routines or some shit with Santana and, you know, sometimes those little skirts can be pretty distracting," I roll my eyes, "and Hudson isn't the most coordinated guy out there anyway so when Quinn does this little turn and her skirt flips up," another eye roll, "Hudson does a header into the water table and totally just busts ass." I'm sure this isn't the story that Noah called to tell me so I just sit quietly, waiting for him to get to the point and to explain his comment about Quinn. "So Quinn and all the other cheerleaders go running over there like it's this big crisis but really Hudson's fine, he just cut his hand. And then…shit Berry this is going to sound so crazy," my ears perk up because I have thought that same phrase so many times before in regards to Quinn, "but Quinn she…she takes his hand and she licks the blood off. Just licks it off. And it looked…shit…like she was enjoying it or something." He chuckles humorlessly. "That sounds so fucked."

"Noah…" This is my opening, the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth about Quinn and everything that's been going on. After having seen her display for himself, he might be more receptive to hearing what I have to say. So why are the words freezing in my throat? Why am I still unable to bring myself to tell him exactly what Quinn is?

"I know, it sounds crazy." Noah chuckles but the sound is forced, like he's trying to make light of the situation and to alleviate the tension. He must think that I'm silent because I don't believe him, that I don't take kindly to what he just said about my friend. How untrue that is. "She's not like a, shit, like a vampire or something?" I can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

I can't help but laugh. "No, Noah, she's not a vampire." I almost wish she was. I know how to kill a vampire.

"Just checking. I know they're, like, all popular now and shit." He laughs again and I roll my eyes at his words. "Look, I know it sounds crazy. Maybe I just imagined the whole thing. Sorry I called you."

"Noah, it doesn't sound crazy." I assure him. How many times have I thought/wished that I had just imagined the changes I was seeing in Quinn, how many times did I convince myself that nothing was going on because it was just too crazy to imagine what my eyes were showing me? "I…thank you for calling me." What a ridiculous thing to say. Should I thank him for being my friend next? Honestly. I roll my eyes at myself. I seem to be rolling my eyes a lot lately.

Noah chuckles again. "See you tomorrow Berry." He hangs up and I set my phone down on my desk, staring down at the screen like I'm hoping it will light up again with a message or phone call from Noah. But I just find myself staring down at my background: a picture of myself, Jesse and Quinn pressed cheek to cheek in order to fit into the frame. We'd taken it outside of the theatre showing _Spring Awakening_, hoping that some of the building would show up in the picture but there was barely enough room for all of us, let alone any landscape. I really should change it but I just can't bring myself to do so.

Sighing, I push my phone out of eyeshot and turn my attention back to the computer. I wish there was some sort of message board or website that I could go to for advice, but I hardly doubt there's a _my best friend has been possessed by a demon and is killing and eating the boys in my school_ chat room. Or if there is, I probably don't want to be a part of it. So, I just keep Googling, hoping to find something that I haven't before, something that will give me the information I so desperately need.

No amount of surfing provides me with the information I've been looking for. What does is simply showing up to school the following morning and seeing Quinn standing at Finn's locker, looking much more like her old self than she did yesterday. Her appearance isn't exactly _Vogue _worthy, but she doesn't look like she peeled herself off the highway to come to school. Her skin is brighter, her hair has more of a bounce to it and her eyes are dangerously bright with an ominous glint. She doesn't look the way that she does after she's fed and replenished her energy but she does look better. Maybe she's been getting more beauty rest.

Suddenly it dawns on me. Noah's story from last night, how Quinn went all _Queen of the Damned_ on Finn after his football injury. His blood wasn't enough to fully replenish her demonic strength but it was enough to give her a little extra charge, to keep her going for the time being. The time in between, when she starts to grow pale and weak and looks like every other teenage girl out there, that's when I can stop her. The first time I tried to kill her didn't work because she had just fed, she was too strong. But she has periods of weakness, I just have to strike when the time is exactly right.

But how much time, exactly, do I have? How long before Quinn grows weak enough to need to feed again? I remember what she said that afternoon at my house: _it's happens so much faster than it used to_. Maybe I will get my chance sooner than I think. I just have to watch for the signs again, I just have to wait for Quinn to lose that shine and bounce and then…what? Lure her away, stab her in the heart again? Even standing in the hallway at school my hands shake at the idea. I acted the first time out of sorrow and anger over what she had done to Jesse. I still hate Quinn, make no mistake about that, but will I be able to kill her all over again?

I decide not to waste time thinking about that. I just have to trust that I'll do what needs to be done when the time is right. Instead, I decide to focus my attention on charting when I think Quinn is likely to become weak and susceptible again. I can barely pay attention in my classes, I'm too busy writing down everything I can remember about how Quinn acted and looked over the past few months and how much time passed each time she killed one of our classmates. I feel guilty about not dedicating the appropriate attention to my classes or glee rehearsal but, in my defense, trying to stop my murderous best friend might be a tad bit more important than conjugating verbs in Spanish or the Boston Tea Party.

It isn't until the following day that Noah mentions my sudden lack of an attention span. He snatches my carefully plotted notes and graphs away from me while we're supposed to be having a partner discussion about symbolism (or something, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure) and I practically lunge at him to take them back before he can read them. Noah's eyes get wide and he raises an eyebrow. "Whoa, Berry, who spiked your coffee this morning?"

I shove the notes into my backpack. I was foolish for even having them out in school; someone easily could have seen what I was writing. "I don't drink coffee, Noah," I inform him frankly, "caffeine is horrible for vocal cords."

Noah just rolls his eyes. "What I mean was that you seem a little uptight." He pauses. "More than usual. You're wound up way too tight, Berry, you need to relax before you go completely crazy."

I huff, rolling my eyes. "I don't think you're qualified to decide whether I am crazy or not." I point out. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"I've noticed." Noah remarks. "You weren't even on the same planet as the rest of us during glee yesterday and something tells me that's out of the ordinary for you. What you need is to take a night off from all that thinking, actually relax for once." He winks at me.

I purse my lips, hoping that Noah doesn't actually see the color that has suddenly brushed across my cheeks. "Why do I get the feeling that you're proposing to be the one to help me relax?" Did that come out flirtatious? Why did it sound like I was propositioning him? Why does this suddenly feel more important than figuring out how to stop Quinn? A night letting Noah unwind me certainly sounds more fun than another night spent trying to figure out how to kill my friend. _Unwind me_, did I really just think that? Oh boy.

Noah grins and it's almost like he can read all the thoughts that are running rapidly through my mind. "How 'bout I pick you up tonight and you can find out." Has he always been leaning this close to me? If only we weren't sitting in the middle of class…

I really shouldn't. I don't have much time before Quinn is too strong to kill and I have to wait all over again. I really need to focus my attention on Quinn and my notes… "Okay, I'll see you at eight o'clock sharp."

Noah smirks and gives me a salute. "Yes ma'am."

Something tells me this isn't just a friendly meeting to talk about our duet or glee club. What if this is a date? Oh God, what should I wear? Too bad the perfect person to ask that question is a demon-possessed man-eater. Life can be so complicated sometimes.

**TBC**


	10. X

**A/N: **Hope you guys continue to enjoy! This was one of my favorite chapters to write :)

10.

"Bear, you look beautiful, stop worrying." Daddy says from his spot on the couch. I thought that his attention was focused on the magazine in his hands but clearly he is noticed the way that I keep checking the time on my phone and my reflection and the way that I keep moving from the couch to the loveseat and back again.

I turn to look at him. "Daddy, we're just meeting to talk about stuff for glee club." I tell him, even though I know it's a little bit of a lie. I do have several pieces of sheet music in my lap, though I'm not sure if the music is to make my words more believable to my dads or if I really think that they're going to come in handy. I can't stop from replaying my conversation with Noah over and over again (obsessive? Maybe) and somehow I doubt that his ideas about relaxing have anything to do with practicing for the duet. Even though we really _should _be practicing, the competition is Tuesday. But I suppose that's beside the point; tonight is supposed to be about relaxing, not thinking about glee or Quinn or Sam or Jesse or anything at all. That's a tall order.

Daddy smiles and shakes his head. "Okay, bear." He says in a patronizingly parental way, like he doesn't believe me and for some reason it makes him happy.

I see headlights flash across the windows at eight o'clock exactly, which makes me smile inside because Noah clearly took what I had to say seriously. There's no excuse for tardiness. Well, I suppose if there's an accident or you have to break for animals. I get to my feet and move toward the door.

"We don't get to meet this gentleman?" Dad questions, looking away from a recorded episode of _Oprah_.

I wrinkle my nose. "Dad, it's just glee practice." I pull open the door and step out onto the front step. Noah is getting out of his car, looking at the house awkwardly like he's dreading walking up to the door and facing my dads. When I told Noah that I had two dads, I swear his face got as white as a sheet. I've never understood why teenage boys find fathers so intimidating; Jesse had been to my house hundreds of times before but when we started dating, he acted like he'd never met them before in his life.

Noah looks relieved to see me heading in his direction instead of forcing him to come to the door (like a gentleman…but this isn't a proper date so I suppose that doesn't apply) and goes around to open the passenger door of his truck. I skip over to him and give him a smile. "Thank you Noah. And I should let you know that my dads are very interested in meeting you." We both glance over toward the front of the house and I swear I see the curtains quickly drop back into place.

"Maybe next time, okay Berry." Noah remarks and I try not to focus too much on the fact that he said _next time_. That's just something that people say and besides Noah and I are friends. I get into the seat and he shuts the door behind me.

I look down at the sheet music in my hands simply to keep from thinking about what Noah has in mind for this evening. Oh great, now I'm thinking about kissing him again. Why is it seemingly impossible to keep from thinking about Noah's lips when I'm around him? Granted, I am a woman and I have eyes so, yeah, of course I've noticed that Noah is (a little more than) attractive and my body seems to be reacting in ways that my mind is not planning for. My mouth is suddenly dry and I lick my lips nervously as the driver's side door opens.

"So," I start before Noah can have the chance to talk, "I brought along some sheet music I thought might be good for our duet and-"

Noah reaches over and takes the papers from my hands, tossing them into the backseat of the truck. I gape at him wordlessly. "No glee club shit tonight, Berry. This is supposed to be about you relaxing."

I glare at him indignantly. "Singing is how I relax myself." I inform him.

"Well, it's not how I relax." Noah tells me, putting his car in reverse and heading down the street.

"So what did you have in mind?" I ask him and suddenly it sounds like I'm propositioning him all over again. And is that a tremor in my voice? What exactly is wrong with me? I never act this way.

Noah glances over at me and smirks. "I guess you'll just have to find out."

I stare out the window, watching Lima pass by as Noah drives. He could really be taking me anywhere and I would have absolutely no idea. I don't know Lima well enough to even guess where he's taking me or to be able to find my way back home if the evening goes south. But somehow, I doubt that Noah is the type of guy to try something and then ditch me just because I'm not willing to go along with his suggestions. Of course, I don't _really_ know Noah that well and why does a part of me think that if he tried something that I wouldn't be opposed? Being in Lima must be affecting my better judgment because I never would have been willing to do anything with a boy who wasn't my boyfriend. Yet, being with Noah, it's hard to imagine wanting to say no.

"You're quiet, Berry." Noah remarks as he drives. "Thinking too hard again."

I shrug. "Just trying to figure out where you're taking me."

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you." I stare at him and he chuckles. "Relax, Berry, I'm just messing with you."

I let out of a breath, rolling my eyes. "I don't like surprises." I mutter. Being surprised has sort of lost its appeal after all the shocks I've had to endure over the past several months. Nothing is more surprising than having your best friend turned into a demon and your boyfriend killed.

"That doesn't surprise me. You seem like the type of girl who likes to have everything exactly planned out and written down on your calendar." Noah remarks.

I glance back out the window; the expression on my face looks almost angry, though his comment isn't far from the truth or that offensive. "I just like to be prepared."

"Sometimes you gotta let other people take care of you." Noah pauses. "Take care of things." He quickly amends and I don't know whether he's changing his phrasing because he doesn't want me to think he's interested in taking care of me or if it was just an honest slip of the tongue. I glance back over at him but his gaze is fixed straight ahead on the stretch of road illuminated by his headlights. "Didn't your last boyfriend ever surprise you?"

I stiffen at the mention of Jesse, curling my hands into fists. "I don't want to talk about him." I say softly, looking down at my lap.

Noah shifts his gaze in my direction. "He cheat on you or something, Berry?" He arches an eyebrow.

I glare at him. "I said I didn't want to talk about him." I say forcefully, my tone almost surprising myself. How am I supposed to move on, begin to heal, even have a good time with Noah tonight when Jesse keeps being brought into the conversation and I'm forced to remember what happened to him that night? Beginning the 'healing process' as my dads call it is nearly impossible with Quinn flouncing around like she doesn't have a care in the world and Noah bringing up the boyfriend he just assumed I had before moving to Lima.

My tone must also take Noah by surprise because he nods slowly, looking toward the road once more. "Sorry." He mutters and even though his voice is low and he only uttered one word, I can tell that he means it.

A moment passes in silence and I sigh softly, willing myself to relax. I never will move beyond that night if I let myself get wound up by flippant comments and vague mentions of Jesse. "I'm sorry Noah." I want to reach out and rest my hand on his knee or shoulder but somehow that seems too familiar and I'm not sure how he would take it. "I just…I don't like to think…" I exhale slowly. "He died." I hadn't intended to say those words but now that they're out, somehow I feel better, like I've finally taken the first step to showing someone the real Rachel Berry, the person I was before everything that happened with Quinn. It feels good to finally tell the truth.

Noah's expression softens and I can tell he feels like a complete ass for mentioning my previous boyfriend in the first place. "Christ, shit, I'm sorry Berry. I should've…shit…" He shakes his head, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "This isn't quite how I pictured this night starting off."

I give him an only-slightly forced smile. "It's okay, Noah." And somehow, I don't feel like I'm lying. It is okay because I finally told him part of the truth and the world didn't fall down around me. Granted, hearing that Jesse died isn't exactly the same thing as hearing that Quinn is a murderous demon responsible for killing him and Sam. "Let's just start over." Noah smiles and I can tell he thinks that's a fantastic idea. "So…where are you taking me?"

Noah laughs and mimes zipping his lips. I wrinkle my nose at him and he winks and I feel my cheeks flush hot. Oh boy, what have a I gotten myself into?

It turns out that Noah's idea of relaxing me involves breaking and entering. Two things that, I can assure you, are not relaxing.

Noah drives a few miles outside of Lima and turns onto this little road that I wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't piloted his truck down it and the truck bounces and dips in a way that lets me know that the road isn't exactly paved. It winds upward and there are trees and thick underbrush on both sides, brushing against the truck and it looks like something you'd expect to see in a horror movie, right around the time an idiot secondary character realizes that the charming boy they're with is actually a deranged serial killer.

"Noah," I hiss, turning to look at him, "where are we going?" I don't take my eyes off the road for long because, a) it seems like we could go plummeting off a mountain (okay, that's a little dramatic, I'll admit, we aren't even moving upward that much) at any time and b) I keep expecting some defenseless forest animal to come darting across the road at any minute.

But Noah isn't exactly driving fast and he seems focused on what he's doing, yet strangely at ease, like he's driven this road before. He just smirks at me, which is infuriating and does not stand in for an answer, and keeps driving.

The headlights wash across a house, easily four floors, towering in front of us. It has crisp white shutters and a paved driveway that loops around the front of the house, passing the neatly trimmed hedges and curving back again. Noah flips off the headlights and pulls into the driveway, parking the truck so it's pointing back toward the dirt road again. "All right Berry, out you go." He opens his door and follows his own advice.

I do the same, only because I don't exactly want to be sitting in a car, alone, in the dark in an unfamiliar place with woods and vicious forest creatures around. I hurry to follow after him. "Noah, where are we? Who's house is this?"

Noah doesn't answer, heading toward the front door and pulling out his cell phone, flipping it open and using the faint light from the screen to illuminate the ground around him. He flips up the mat, turns over a statue of an angel and overturns a rock before I realize that he's looking for a key. "Are we breaking into this house?" I question, my voice low, just because it doesn't seem like I should start shouting even though I'm pretty sure we're in the middle of nowhere. Okay, maybe not the middle of nowhere but I doubt there are any neighbors around. "Do you even know who lives here?"

Noah finally turns up a key and gives me a smile. "Relax, Berry." He unlocks the door and ushers me inside. "I clean this guy's pool every two weeks. I know he's out of town because he wanted me to swing by and just keep an eye on the house."

He flicks on a light switch and the brilliant light from an admittedly fancy chandelier washes across an impressive foyer. "I highly doubt that he meant for you to come at night and bring a girl with you." I point out, refusing to move from by the front door because I'm not keen on trespassing in someone's house.

Noah glances over his shoulder and shrugs. "He didn't specify." He points out, like it's common sense.

I glare at him. "Clearly this man trusts you Noah and-"

"Berry, are you planning on stealing his shit? Getting drunk and puking on his couch and breaking his priceless vases or whatever the fuck?" I stare at him, shaking my head slowly because I can't really find any words to respond to his accusations. "Okay, great. Neither am I. It's going to be fine. See, this is what I'm talking about: you need to relax, unwind. Trust me."

Noah is staring at me, waiting for me to move, either in his direction or back out the front door. I have the feeling that this one of those little moments in life that change the direction that your life goes in. I know that sounds dramatic but sometimes it's those little things that effect you in ways you don't realize. Like agreeing to go to Soft Shoulder with Quinn even though I had plans with Jesse. If I turn around and insist that we leave, I have a very strong feeling that Noah wouldn't be keen to continue our friendship, not because he's a jerk but because we had our moment and I didn't take it. But still…breaking and entering…

Noah arches an eyebrow and I find myself moving toward him, shaking my head. "When the police show up, I'm telling them you kidnapped me." I inform him matter-of-factly.

Noah laughs and slings his arm over my shoulder. "Sure, Berry, whatever makes you feel better."

Noah gives me a brief tour of the downstairs, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen and parlor with a piano that is almost too tempting to resist, before steering me toward the back of the house. The French doors open out to a massive indoor pool, complete with longue chairs and a fully stocked bar off to the left. Noah pushes open the doors and steps out onto the tile, kicking off his shoes. "This is how I relax." He remarks.

I raise an eyebrow. "By breaking into people's homes when they're on vacation?"

"No, Berry, Christ." He rolls his eyes but I can tell that he's just trying not to laugh. "Swimming. It's the definite perk of the pool cleaning business. Well, that and the cougs."

I wrinkle my nose. "I did not need that piece of information."

Noah waves his hand dismissively. "They're overrated. But swimming…there's nothing quite as relaxing as a good swim." He pulls off his shirt and I try to avert my eyes but, as I said before: woman, breathing, it's a little hard not to stare. Noah notices and smiles and then turns and jumps into the pool, the sound of the splash echoing throughout the otherwise silent house.

When he surfaces, he smiles and beckons to me. "Noah, I believe there's a flaw in your plan." I put my hands on my hips. "I didn't bring my swim-suit."

"Bra and panties work too babe." Noah points out and I glare at him and he relents. "Just jump in, your clothes will dry."

"But not before my dads ask why I'm all wet." I point out and my cheeks flush again and Noah grins but thankfully he decides not to take advantage of that little slip of the tongue.

"Tell 'em it's raining." Noah is watching me closely, treading water. "The water feels great, Berry, are you really just going to stand there staring at me?"

I bite my lip, considering his proposal. On one hand, I cannot imagine going swimming, fully clothed, in a stranger's pool. On the other…a swim _does_ sound nice and Noah is still shirtless and the water is making his muscles look even more enticing and…_enticing_ really? Well, if the shoe fits…

I think about Noah's words when we were standing in the foyer. _Trust me_. I want to, I really do. Maybe that's why I told him about Jesse, maybe that's why I agreed to go out with him at all, maybe that's why I followed him into a stranger's empty house. I'm starting to trust Noah all ready and it feels nice.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I run and jump into the pool, holding my breath as I sink below the water. It's the perfect temperature, warm and all around, engulfing my body and blocking out the sounds and sights of the world above. I do feel a little bit more relaxed already sinking there below the surface because it's easy to pretend that there's nothing beyond the water and I almost want to sink to the bottom and stay there until my lungs can't take it. Which would be a while because I have great control over my breathing.

But I move toward the surface, brushing my hair out of my face and looking at Noah, who's grinning broadly. "I cannot believe I just did that." I laugh, unable to keep from smiling too. "We could get in so much trouble."

Noah moves in my direction. "Nah, we'll be fine. Guy's gonna be away for the next five days. Aren't you glad you listened to me?" He splashes me playfully.

I lean so I'm floating on my back, staring up at the glass ceiling that provides an uninterrupted view of the night sky. A part of me wishes I knew what this guy did because I could definitely get used to a place like this. It would be nice to slip into a heated pool after a Broadway show every night and relax my dancing muscles.

I feel Noah's hands on my back and flinch in surprise, straightening up so that I'm no longer on my back. Before I can move away, Noah pulls me into his arms and our faces feel much closer together than they did that afternoon in his bedroom. His skin feels warm against my palms and I'm glad that I'm still completely clothed because being in anything less than jeans and a tee-shirt would make me feel far too self-conscious in this moment.

"You're still tense Berry." Noah chides but he's smiling like he knows that whatever tension he feels in my body has nothing to do with the worries that have been on my mind for the past three weeks. In fact, I can barely remember what's been bothering me so much in the first place. "My tactics not working for you?"

I didn't even realize that we had been moving until my back is suddenly against the side of the pool and the cool tile sends a shiver down my spine. Honest, it was the tile and the not the way that Noah is rubbing circles on my upper arms with his thumbs. "No." I can barely hear the word as it passes my lips and I'm not sure if my mouth is going to follow with anymore, like _no, they aren't working I feel more wound up than before _or_ no, they're working just fine…_

It doesn't really matter, I suppose, because Noah is leaning toward me and my eyes flutter closed on their own accord and I wait for the feel of his lips on mine. It's like that afternoon in his bedroom. Suddenly, I find myself waiting for another moment like the one that overtook me that same afternoon: visions of Quinn, of Sam, of the horrible things she was doing to him.

But that doesn't happen. Instead, I feel his lips against mine, softer than I expected and warm and I understand why the thought of kissing him hasn't left my head since last week. He lifts a hand and slides it through my hair, his fingers curling around the curve of my neck and I let out a sigh against his mouth.

I slip my arms around Noah's shoulders just to keep from sinking beneath the surface of the water because my body suddenly feels weightless and my mind is trying to wrap around the idea of staying above the water. I can feel Noah's lips shift into a smile and that just makes my heart flutter and my stomach flip (in a pleasantly way) and I'm not sure why that is. Maybe because the very idea of kissing me makes Noah smile, something that never happened with Jesse. Noah's leg slides between my thighs and he presses closer against me. Normally, I am not this kind of girl. I do not make it out in (stranger's) pools with boys I have only known for three months with whom I have not had a conversation about the future out of our relationship. I don't even know if Noah and I will even _have_ a future relationship, that seems like I'm getting way ahead of myself. But, in this moment, I can hardly bring myself to care. Talk about relaxation.

I'm not sure how long we stay like that, twined together but when Noah pulls away it seems far too soon. My eyes open slowly, like the lids are too heavy and Noah is smiling at me, a satisfied look on his face. "Relaxed now?" I must nod because Noah only looks more satisfied with himself. It might annoy me, if he hadn't just kissed me completely breathless and has every reason to be proud of his prowess.

Noah moves away from me and kicks over to the stairs. I must give him a look of disappointment (my own body is working against me now) because he smirks as he climbs out of the water. "You want me turning into a prune, Berry?" He questions, his tone teasing. Though he does have a point and skin care is important.

I take his hand when he offers it, even though I'm more than capable of climbing out of the pool on my own. It's only when I'm out of the water and standing there completely soaking wet in water-logged clothes that I wish I had thought about going swimming in them a little bit harder. There's no way that I'm going to be even remotely dry by the time I get home and there's no way I'm going to be able to explain to my dads why I'm _this_ wet. Besides, I suddenly feel like the way that my clothes are sticking to my skin is far too revealing and I feel self-conscious despite our lengthy make-out session in the pool.

I look down at myself hopelessly and Noah must read the expression on my face because he suggests, "We could throw them in the dryer." I look up at him, pursing my lips and arching an eyebrow and he holds up his hands. "There's got to be a robe or something you can wear while they dry."

As much as I hate the idea of wearing another person's clothing while I'm already in their house uninvited, I hate the idea of being in these clothes even more. I wait in the laundry room while Noah scouts around for temporary clothing. I catch my reflection in the mirror above the dryer (ridiculous place for a mirror, if you ask me) and I almost don't recognize myself. My lips are bruised and swollen from kissing and my hair is flat and stuck to the side of my head, except where it twists out in random little bursts from where Noah had his fingers in it. But the real reason that I don't recognize myself at first is because I look happy in that split-second I see myself when I wasn't planning to. Normally, the reflection that stares back at me is a perfect mirror of how I feel inside: lost, empty, conflicted, mourning the loss of my friend and boyfriend. But this girl, as sorry as her physical appearance is, has a spark in her eye that I haven't seen in a long time. I like it, it's much more like the old me.

"Here you go, Berry." I turn away from the mirror when I hear Noah's voice and turn to find him walking into the laundry room holding a plush green robe out to me. He's wearing another robe, his wet jeans draped over his arm. "I guess his wife parades around naked because I couldn't find anything more in your size."

I laugh. "It's okay, Noah, robes aren't exactly supposed to be size appropriate." He smiles at me and stands in the doorway until I shoo him out and close the door behind him so I can peel off my clothes without his eyes on me. The idea makes my cheeks hot. I really have to regain control over my body if it's just going to keep betraying me like this.

**TBC**


	11. XI

11.

Though I am still not completely comfortable with the idea of whiling away the time in someone else's home, there really isn't much of a choice but to wait while our clothes dry. It's not exactly like we can go out to dinner in our robes and just come back later. Noah suggests heading down the basement because apparently the owner of the house has a "kick-ass flat screen TV and like a thousand movies" but I can't stop myself from heading back toward the front room, where I caught a glimpse of the piano when we walked in.

I sit down on the bench, pushing up the lid above the keys and Noah leans against the doorway, smirking. "Should've guessed." But he doesn't seem to mind.

I brush my fingers across the keys, noting that the piano doesn't look like it's gotten much use in the past. I hate when people have beautiful instruments in their home for nothing more than show; to me, the only point of having a piano or guitar or any type of instrument is so that it can make noise. Preferably pleasant noise.

"Play me something." I look over at Noah, who is watching me expectantly. "Sing."

For some reason, I find myself shaking my head. "No." I drop my eyes to the keys. I have never turned down the opportunity to perform before; when I was little, I used to find any excuse to give company an impromptu show. Why am I resisting playing for Noah now?

Noah steps into the room and sits down on the piano bench next to me, like he did the other day in the choir room. His shoulder is pushing against mine and I can almost imagine that I feel the heat of his skin even through the fabric of our robes. Maybe it's just a memory of the pool. "C'mon, you're always bugging me about that stupid duet, now's your chance to show me what you got."

"I do have some sheet music in your truck." I move to get up from the bench but Noah puts his fingers gently around my wrist and I barely make it off the bench. "Noah-"

"You don't need sheet music, Berry, I know you." Noah points out and I have to admit that he's right. I do have a repertoire of songs I can play without needing to look at the notes. "I just want to hear you sing. There's no audience, no one to impress, just me."

Noah should have figured out by now that even by himself, he is quite an intimidating audience and for some reason, I _do_ feel the need to impress him. I gently move my wrist away from his hand and position my fingers above the keyboard. Even though it isn't a duet, I start to play "City" by Sara Bareilles simply because it's the first song that comes to mind and by the time I'm through with the second verse, I no longer care about impressing Noah because all I can hear is the music and that's all the matters.

Noah lets out a low whistle when I finish and raises an eyebrow. "Damn Berry, you're like a professional." I laugh softly and mutter a thank-you because that is, after all, my life's goal: to become a professional. That's what Jesse and I always talked about doing together, making it big, sharing the enjoyment of our respective successes. It's almost as though Noah can tell that I'm thinking about Jesse because he questions, "Did your boyfriend ask you to play for him?" in a way that no longer seems invasive.

"Jesse was as good as I was." It was something I never liked admitting, something that he teased me about, though I secretly knew that he thought he was better. Jesse had many amazing qualities but his ego was not one of them. "We used to sing together at Carmel. We were the best."

Noah smirks softly. "I believe that." He hesitates, like he's not sure whether or not he should keep talking but he seems to rule out of the idea of keeping silent because he questions, "How did he die?" He doesn't sound like someone who's prying for the intimate details of someone else's tragedy. He just sounds like a concerned friend who really wants to know so that he can relate on some small level.

This isn't a question that I'm sure how to answer. Of course, this could be the perfect opportunity to tell Noah the truth, about everything. When he kissed me, I didn't feel like I was just some girl he was trying to use and then toss aside; it might be naïve of me to think that way, but I couldn't help but feel like it was the promise of something more, a way for Noah to express that he might be developing feelings for me. Because I am certainly developing them for him. Which is why I'm still reluctant to tell him the truth because I know I'll sound like a complete lunatic and it might completely push him away. Because those kisses were nice, but they weren't exactly a promise of forever.

"It was…there was…an accident." I don't look at Noah while I say this, focusing my attention on the piano keys.

"Quinn." Noah says.

I jerk my head up, eyes wide at his words. "What…?" I can barely hear myself speak. How did he…he couldn't possibly understand the truth.

Noah shrugs one shoulder. "I just thought maybe…I've seen you look at her sometimes, like you want to hate her but there's this part of you that just can't do it. And your reaction to seeing her again, the fact that you don't really like talking about either of them…I dunno, it just seemed to make sense."

I stare at him, at a loss for how to respond. Noah reaches out and takes my hand, the gesture absent and causal. "Yes." I say, almost surprising myself. "It was Quinn." The only other people I have told this to are my fathers and they found it impossible to believe me. Granted, I conveyed the news of Quinn's involvement in Jesse's death a little differently but it still feels good to tell someone who doesn't doubt me.

I'm about to tell Noah everything, I realize that I _want_ to tell him the truth but he speaks before the words can tumble from my lips. "That must be hard. To see her every day."

I sigh, looking away from him again. "You have no idea." I close my eyes.

And I see Finn. It's just like the afternoon that Sam was killed and I saw him through Quinn's eyes, when I felt how she was feeling. A part of me wants to snap my eyes open and pray the vision goes away but the stronger part of me can't bear to look away, terrified of what I might miss when I do. But I am just as terrified of what I might see. From what I can tell, they're at the football field and I can practically feel the grass under my (Quinn's?) fingers. Finn is laying on his back and I'm moving closer to him and I no longer feel the grass under my fingers but the fabric of his shirt.

Finn smiles but the expression falters and sort of freezes on his face and slowly turns into an expression of confusion and growing horror. "Quinn…your face…" I wish I knew what he was seeing because it's enough to sincerely frighten him.

He moves to push her away but Quinn grabs his arms, pinning them roughly to his sides. "Oh no, you're not going anywhere." Her voice is low, a growl, inhuman and ringing in my ears. I lift my head, opening my eyes but I can't see the room around me, I can't hear Noah if he's trying to call me back to the present. I can only hear Quinn, I can only hear the pounding of Finn's heart in his chest and see the fear on his face. He tries to struggle but her grip is far too strong. "Are you scared, Finn?" She purrs and I feel her hunger, her excitement and anticipation. Her fingers dig into his arms and I feel his skin give way beneath my nails.

"Quinn…stop…what are you doing?" Finn's voice is shaky and he sounds like a little boy. I want to cry out, to use Quinn's body the way that she seems to be able to use mine. I wish the connection went both ways but there is nothing that I can do. Quinn knows that I am here, watching and powerless, exactly how she wants it.

"I need you frightened." Quinn growls and I can feel her body tingling with excitement. She cannot wait to kill him. "I need you hopeless." I can feel her mouth begin to elongate like some deformed snake and Finn starts screaming and it only makes her laugh, an eerie and inhuman sound.

Quinn moves her hands to his chest, her fingers like claws digging into his skin, tearing at his shirt and skin. She lunges for his throat and I can feel the warmth of Finn's blood on my lips. He starts screaming and Quinn sits up, using her hands to scoop the blood from his throat and chest into her mouth and it runs down her neck and chest, like she wants to bathe in it.

I feel myself fall backward and suddenly the room around me comes rushing back. I feel the piano bench underneath me, the unfamiliar smell of someone else's home is in my nose. Noah reaches out to catch me before I tumble off the bench and onto the hardwood and his arms feel strong and real against my back. "No…Noah…" My voice is barely above a whisper.

Noah carries me to the couch, laying me down gently on the plush cushions. My mouth still feels hot and sticky and the iron taste is still on my tongue. I rub at my mouth and lips, expecting my hand to come back stained with red but there's nothing there.

I'm only aware that I'm shaking violently when Noah asks me if I'm cold and if he should find me a blanket. Before he can get up to go looking for one, I throw my arms around his shoulders, pressing my face against his neck. I don't even bother trying not to cry because there is no reason not to. Finn is dead. I failed to save him and now Noah has lost his friend and Quinn is strong again. Noah rubs my back and doesn't ask me what happened, doesn't ask me why am I holding onto him for dear life and crying like I might never stop and that's for the best because I would have no idea what to tell him.

* * *

><p>I know what news awaits me when I walk into McKinley High Monday morning. I know this because I saw the news report Saturday afternoon and because Finn was killed before my eyes. The news report discussed that Finn Hudson was found mutilated on the McKinley High football field and while details are sparse and there are no leads or suspects, the state of his body is similar to that of Sam Evans, who died only two weeks before. On Sunday, the news report talks about lack of evidence, a town in shock and how important it is to travel in groups and not go out after dark. Though the state of Finn's body suggests that he was attacked by an animal, people are not ruling out the possibility of some deranged, sadistic mad-man running around killing teenage boys for ritualistic sacrifice. I haven't said much to my dads throughout the weekend, haven't really moved from my spot on the couch and have been doing a lot of pretending that I don't see the concerned and pained looks that they keep giving me.<p>

Monday morning, everyone is still talking about Finn. Several cheerleaders are standing in the hallway, crying openly and ignoring the sympathetic looks and pats that they get from their fellow students. Noah is nowhere in sight. I haven't heard from him since Friday night, when he deposited me on my doorstep and kissed me goodbye, looking concerned and promising that he would call me in the morning. In the morning, he undoubtedly received the news that his friend was dead and so it's perfectly understandable that I have not gotten a call from him.

It is also understandable that Noah is not in English class or anywhere in sight in the cafeteria, even though I want nothing more than to see him. I want to tell him everything, to confess the ugly truth of how I knew what Quinn was and did nothing to stop her. I failed to tell anyone the truth, I failed to stop her and now Finn is dead. Just like with Jesse, this is my fault. This will not happen again.

Quinn is once again the center of attention. It's been no secret that she and Finn have become a sort of item, so everyone wants to know how Quinn is feeling and what the last words Finn said to Quinn were. I don't know what answer she gives, but I am certain it isn't the truth: that Finn's last words involved him begging her for his life. Quinn looks perfect, immaculate, once again. Her skin is glowing, her cheeks are rosy, her hair is radiant, even though she puts on the appearance of someone grieving the loss of their boyfriend.

On the way to glee practice Monday morning, I see Quinn slip into the ladies room and I can't stop myself from following in after her. The bathroom is empty, so I march right over to her, where she stands in front of the mirror, checking her reflection. Quinn smirks but doesn't turn to face me. "I was wondering when I was going to be hearing from you." She sighs, shaking her head. "Let's hear it Rach, get it all out. Tell me how awful I am, tell me how you can't believe I killed him." She is mocking me.

I just stare at her, my eyes narrowed, silent, my body tense, until Quinn finally turns to look at me, like she's surprised that I haven't launched into a tirade yet. "I'm going to kill you, Quinn." My voice is low, confident and certain of what I'm saying. Quinn almost looks surprised. "This ends now."

Quinn narrows her eyes into slits and looks almost excited by my words. "You don't have it in you, Berry."

"We'll see, won't we." No more mistakes, this is not my friend, Quinn is dead and gone and it's time to kill this creature using her body.

Quinn smirks. "I'm going to enjoy tearing your heart out and eating it."

I feel a shiver run down my spine. "I thought you only murdered boys."

"I go both ways." Quinn winks as she moves past me, pushing my shoulder with hers as she heads toward the door.

I let out a shuddering breath when she is gone. It never occurred to me that she would want to hurt me, but now I wonder if that wasn't her plan all along.

Even though there's several other people in the choir room and I know that Quinn wouldn't do anything violent or reckless in front of everyone, I still feel uncomfortable being so close to her. I wish that Noah were here, simply because his presence would be enough to make me feel just a little bit safer.

Mr. Schuester is even more shaken up than he was when Sam was killed and cancels practice for the next week and possibly indefinitely and no one seems to care. Even though practice is canceled, no one really gets up to move, instead sitting around and talking in hushed tones about Finn and the potentially crazed killer somewhere on the loose. They have no idea they're sitting in the same room with the person who killed both Finn and Sam and who is probably considering killing another one of them and normally the irony would strike me was humorous but there's really nothing funny about this particular situation.

I slip out unnoticed and decide to walk home instead of bothering to wait around for my dads to pick me up. On the way, I call Noah but the call goes to voicemail and I leave a floundering message, full of stutters and stops, asking him to call me, explaining that I know how he feels. Noah doesn't call that night and when I dream, it's not Jesse that I find ravaged at the playground but Noah.

* * *

><p>Noah is not at school Tuesday and again my calls to him go unanswered. I understand his need for privacy and his desire to grieve and be alone but the reoccurring nightmares I've been having featuring him as a mutilated corpse are doing nothing to convince me that he is okay.<p>

Wednesday, I have made the decision to go to his house and at least ascertain that he is all right if he isn't at school again. I am almost surprised to see him at his locker Wednesday morning and he looks over in my direction, our eyes meeting but he does nothing more to acknowledge me. I don't know whether or not I should be hurt by the way he turns and heads down the hallway or if I should make allowances for his behavior. After all, he did lose his friend in a horribly violent way. But still, I was the girl he was kissing in a pool Friday night. What if it meant more to me than it did to him? What _did _it mean to me? Somehow, I know this is not the time to be thinking about what those amazing kisses may or may not mean.

As Noah rounds the corner and disappears from sight, Quinn brushes past him, moving in my direction. I feel a surge of nausea run through me at the sight of her. However, the feeling that I might be sick disappears quickly when I take in Quinn's appearance. Her hair is falling limp down her back and her eyes look shadowy and tired once more. Her skin has taken on the shallow tint of someone battling with sickness. It's wearing off already. Finn died so that Quinn could have a handful of days of radiating beauty and energy. And now she looks almost normal, she looks like she's growing weak and soon she will have to kill again. I have to act before she does.

I walk past Quinn's locker on my way to class. As usual, she is standing talking to Kurt, who is, diplomatically, not mentioning her pathetic appearance. I stop and turn to face Quinn. "Quinn, are you feeling all right? You're not looking to good." I remark, smirking.

Quinn glares at me and slams her locker door shut so hard to Kurt flinches. "I wish I had your energy, Rachel. Maybe you could give me some." She runs her tongue over her lips and mirrors my smirk. Suddenly, I don't feel very much like smiling.

Even though glee practice is no more, I still find myself gravitating to the choir room when school is over for the day. Something about being in this room makes me want to sing and play and get myself lost in the music in a way that being at home hasn't inspired me to do since we moved. Besides, I know that as soon as I get home, I have to throw myself into planning on how to kill Quinn once and for all. It won't be as easy as it might have been the first few nights when she was back in town because now she knows that I'm coming for her and she's looking forward to it.

As it has been since Monday afternoon, the choir room is empty. I don't bother looking for Mr. Schuester or anyone else because it is unlikely that any of them would be interested in spending their after school hours in the choir room now that there isn't anything to work towards. Yesterday's duet assignment due date came and went, which might have been a good thing considering that Noah and I had never even picked a song, let alone rehearsed one. But none of that really seems to matter now.

I sit down at the piano bench but the inspiration to play doesn't strike me like it normally does. Usually, my fingers are itching to make contact with the keys but today I just stare at the white and black ivory, the way that I did in the days following Jesse's death, like the piano and music were completely foreign concepts.

"You gonna play Berry or just stare into space?" I turn around on the bench to see Noah standing in the doorway, looking at me with tired eyes and with an equally tired smile on his face.

I don't even chide him for sneaking up on me like I have asked him not to do in the past. A part of me is just relieved that he's standing here at all. "Noah, I…" I'm not really sure what to say. What do you say in this situation? None of the condolences anyone had to offer after Jesse's death made me feel any better, so I know that they won't help Noah feel better.

It was a surprise when Noah started talking first. "I'm sorry I haven't called." He moved into the choir room but instead of sitting down beside me like I expected, he dropped into one of the plastic chairs lined up against the back of the room. "I just…I didn't know where my head was at."

"That's perfectly understandable, Noah." I assured him. I stand and go to sit beside him, laying my hand over his after a second of hesitation. "I'm sorry about Finn." After Jesse died, I promised myself that I wouldn't ever say those words to anyone because they are absolutely meaningless. Yet here I am, telling Noah how sorry I am about Finn.

Noah sighs, leaning back against his chair. "It's just…we had plans to go to OSU in the fall, play football together and now…" I nod but don't say anything because I know exactly how he feels and he knows that. "It's hard to believe that isn't going to happen." He turns to look at me and his eyes are shiny and as naked as I've ever seen them. "Shit Berry, does it ever get better?"

I can tell that this isn't a rhetorical question. I shake my head slightly and shrug. "I don't know. It's hardly been any time since…but it has to get better, Noah."

He leans forward and kisses me, taking me by surprise. This kiss is rougher and more desperate than the ones we shared Friday night and it's like everything Noah can't say he's trying to convey with this gesture. Maybe this is how he speaks, not with words but actions, with touches, with kisses. Maybe I wasn't overthinking everything that happened Friday.

When Noah finally pulls away it's hard for me to breathe, like he kissed the breath right out of me. Wouldn't be the first time. We stare at each other for a moment, both silent, unsure of what we're supposed to do next. What is the protocol for this situation? Is it appropriate for him to be kissing me after his best friend died? Should I let him kiss me (alright, should I kiss him) with my boyfriend barely a few months dead._ Is_ there any protocol for this? I'm guessing not.

I reach forward and rest my hand against his cheek. "It has to get better." I say again softly.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." I don't have to turn toward the doorway to know that the voice that just purred those words belongs to Quinn but I do anyway. My hand drops away from Noah's cheek but I can tell by the smile on her face and the glint in her eyes that I'm too late, she's already seen. I feel my body tense and my throat go dry, a sense of foreboding spreading from my chest and settling in my stomach. Quinn steps into the choir room. "Puck, Coach Tanka just sent me to find you. Something about practice. I wasn't expecting to see you in here, though." She arches an eyebrow.

Noah gets to his feet, giving my hand a slight squeeze before he pulls his fingers away. He doesn't say anything to me or Quinn as he walks out of the room, disappearing from view as soon as he turns to the left. Quinn flops down in the seat he just vacated and I quickly stand to leave. Quinn's hand reaches out and grabs my wrist, her grip uncomfortably strong, pushing me back down into my seat. "Well, well, Berry, it looks like we've got something to talk about." She is smirking.

I try to pull my wrist away but her grip is far too tight. "There's nothing to talk about Quinn. Let me go."

"I guess I went after the wrong guy, didn't I? All that time I thought you were making goo-goo eyes at Finn but here you were, sneaking around with his best friend." Quinn laughs slightly. "I'm impressed Rach, you never used to be able to keep things from me."

I jerk my hand away from hers finally. "I don't know what you're talking about Quinn." It suddenly seems imperative that I deny her words, that I convince her that there's absolutely nothing going on between Noah and I. I can easily read the look in her eyes, the hunger that comes not only from the demon within but also from the desire to take him away from me, the way that she took away Jesse and Finn. She used Finn as an attempt to hurt me, I can only imagine that she'll jump at the chance to get to Noah too.

"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel." Quinn shakes her head in a pitying way. "I'm your best friend, don't you think I know when there's a boy you like? Though, I have to say, I expected you to send a little more time grieving for Jesse. But, I mean he _is_ dead, so I doubt he'll care…"

"Stay away from him, Quinn." I feel fury rise in my stomach, replacing the feelings of foreboding and fear that had settled there. "If you even try to hurt him, I swear-"

Quinn's laugh cuts me off. "You'll what? Bitch me out? Make idle threats? Sing until my ears bleed?" Quinn rolls her eyes, shaking her head. "There's nothing you can do to me, Rachel. I might have missed the mark with Finn but I know what I'm talking about now. And I'm going to enjoy making you suffer all over again."

I get to my feet quickly, not even bothering to grab my backpack as I rush out of the choir room and through the emptying hallways toward the football field that stretches out behind the school. I have to tell Noah the truth about Quinn. He cannot be unprepared for her now that I know that she intends on coming after him. If he knows the truth, then we can stand together against her, we can work out a plan and a way to kill her. Why haven't I thought about this before? Stopping Quinn would be so much easier with someone else who knew what was going on. I cannot let her hurt him. I will not let her.

I round the corner and run smack into someone approaching from the opposite end. I nearly fall backward and onto my behind but two arms reach out to steady me and I look up to find myself staring into Noah's face. "Whoa, Berry, don't hurt yourself." He remarks. "I don't know what Quinn was talking about. There isn't even football practice today and Coach "

I could really care less about Quinn's ploy to get me alone so she could threaten Noah's life. I grab his hand, pulling him back down the hallway that he came from, which will also lead us toward the student parking lot. "Noah, I really need to talk to you. It's imperative."

Noah seems a little surprised by my words and actions but he lets me pull him down the hallway. "What's this about? What's going on? Did Quinn say something to you?" Normally, I would enjoy the way his voice suddenly sounds protective but that hardly seems important right now.

"It's about everything." I say. "Please, just take me home and I'll tell you everything when we get there."

**TBC**


	12. XII

**A/N: **Thank you guys all so much for the reviews, I'm glad you guys have been enjoying this story. This is the home stretch now!

12.

My dads are still at work, as expected, so we have the house to ourselves. I don't even bother suggesting that we head up to my room because there's nothing wrong with the couch and I can tell that Noah is as eager to hear what I have to say as I am to tell him. I don't even bother to go through the motions of being a good host because there are more important things to worry about than whether or not Noah wants a pop or something to eat.

I sit next to him on the sofa, reaching out and taking his hand just because I need to do something with my hands in order to try and settle my nerves. I cannot believe that I'm about to tell him the truth about everything. I am about to completely open myself up to him, something I have been talking myself out of doing since day one and never have, but he has to know about Quinn.

"Berry, you've really got to tell me what's going on." Noah prompts. "You're acting kinda crazy, and not the cute, had-way-too-much-caffeine this morning crazy."

Well, sorry Noah, but that's probably not about to change. "Noah, you have to…" I know what I'm about to say sounds insane, I've run the words through my head dozens and dozens of times over the past few months and they sound crazy to me and I lived through it. "The other night, you told me to trust you and I did. Now I really need you to trust me now. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound completely crazy but I promise, _I'm _not crazy. Just please…trust me."

Noah stays silent throughout my entire story. I tell him about Quinn and Jesse and how we were pretty much inseparable since meeting. I tell him about Quinn convincing me to go see Soft Shoulder at Melody Lane that night and how I let her get into the van with them even though I knew that something horrible was going to happen. I tell him what Quinn told me about that night, how she described the ritual and how she talked about killing Ronnie Miller and how he was found dead the next day. I tell him about Jonas and Colin and Chip and how they were found dead and then I force myself to tell him about Jesse, how it felt to watch him die and know that Quinn had killed him just to hurt me. I tell him about trying to kill Quinn that first time, how it had felt to think that I killed my best friend and how my dads had reacted when I'd told them the truth, how they'd packed up everything and moved us to Lima. I finally tell him about seeing Sam and Finn, finally explaining my completely bizarre behavior with him both Friday night and that afternoon in his bedroom. I explain about the research that I've been doing, about how Quinn is vulnerable when she's in-between feedings. I talk until my throat starts to feel dry and I wonder how much time has passed. And throughout everything, Noah doesn't say a single word, doesn't even look like he's thinking about interrupting me.

When I finally finish (leaving out the thinly veiled threat that Quinn made against his own life), I can tell right away that Noah is not going to believe me. It is in the way that he's looking at me, like he's never seen me before in his life but he's just too polite to point that fact out. I thought that he was the person that I could count on to believe what I had to say about Quinn and now I am sincerely doubting that assumption.

Noah is silent for a long while and then he finally exhales, shaking his head. "That's…Rachel…" It's the first time he's actually called me by my first name but somehow that makes everything worse. "That sounds really crazy."

"I know." I assure him fervently. "It sounds crazy to me too. But you have to believe me, I wouldn't make up a story like that."

Noah runs a hand over his mohawk, shaking his head again. "I know that something's going on between you and Quinn and I know that it's probably been really fucking tough on you to lose your boyfriend but that story…" He looks at me entreatingly, like he's hoping I'll tell him that I made the whole thing up as some way to cope with Jesse's death. "You can't really expect me to believe that Quinn is possessed by the devil or whatever."

I look him square in the eye so that he is certain to see my sincerity. "Yes, I can, because it's the truth. Noah, this isn't some psychotic breakdown. Everything I told you is the truth and we're all in danger until we can stop Quinn and-"

Noah gets to his feet and his movement surprises me enough to stop the words from leaving my lips. "Look, I don't think you're crazy." Again, I don't really feel better about this whole thing. "But I really…I need a minute to digest this, okay? You can't just expect me to be okay after you just told me that a demon-possessed cheerleader just killed and ate my best friend. Even if it is true." I want to assure him, once again, that my story is completely true, but I force myself to remain quiet. "Just…I'm going to go, okay? Are you going to be okay here, by yourself?" He does think I'm crazy, I can see it in the way he's looking at me, I can hear it in his question, like he expects me to further succumb to my delusions if he leaves me alone.

Suddenly, I want to cry, to beg him not to leave me. Instead, I just nod. "I'm fine." He starts toward the front door. "Noah…" He turns to look at me. "Please, you have to believe me."

Noah forces a smile onto his face and the pained nature of it makes me want to cry all over again. "Sure, Berry. I'll call you, okay?" And with that, he opens the door and shuts it quickly behind him.

I sit on the couch, thinking about what I said and Noah's behavior and about Quinn's threat until my dads come home from work and ask what's wrong. Lying to them is easy, especially since they know about Finn and I force myself to try and be a least a little attentive as they both tell me about their days as a way to pull me out of my funk.

Dad asks if I want to help with dinner and I agree just to keep them from worrying. While Dad goes into the kitchen to get everything ready, I head upstairs to wash up and change out of my school clothes. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and no longer see the girl that I saw Friday night, with the spark in her eye. It was Noah that put it there and now…after this afternoon I don't even know if I'm going to be able to count him as a friend.

My reflection and everything else around me suddenly disappears and I find myself looking at Noah's house. My fingers grip the counter to keep me from falling backward because I suddenly don't feel like my legs can hold me. The front door of the house is opening and Noah is stepping outside. He freezes suddenly, his face a perfect mask of surprise. "Quinn…what are you doing here?"

No, this cannot be happening. Not again, not him. I cannot be too late already, I cannot have failed so spectacularly again. Quinn moves closer and in spite of what I told him earlier, Noah does not close the door in her face. _Run_, I will the words to come out of Quinn's mouth, _run now_. It seems only fair that I should be able to speak with her lips since she can use my head to project the things that she sees.

"I came to talk to you about Rachel." Quinn says, sounding contrite and worried. Noah's eyes crinkle, looking almost concerned. "Ever since Jesse died she just hasn't been acting like herself, she's been living in this fantasy world and I'm just worried…" She trails off and I can practically see her batting her eyelashes at him. "Do you have a chance to talk?"

Noah hesitates and I pray that he remembers what I said, that even if he doesn't believe me that he doesn't accept Quinn's invitation. Because if he does, she's got him for sure. "I'm supposed to run to the store and pick up something for my mother."

"I'll go with you. And on the way maybe we can find somewhere private to talk." Quinn insists and Noah looks at her doubtfully. "I just want to talk about Rachel, Puck, I'm worried about her. And I think you are too."

Noah sighs and I know what he is about to say. "Fine. Only because I'm worried about Rachel." That should make me feel good. Instead it makes the want to scream.

As abruptly as it began, suddenly I am staring at myself again. My face is ashen and I have tears on my cheeks; I didn't even know that I was crying but I know that I am crying for Noah. But…assuming that I'm receiving this information real time, then Noah isn't dead yet. Quinn is trying to luring him somewhere and she wants me to find them, if only so I can watch her kill him the way that she did with Jesse. There's still time and I'm not going to save Noah standing in my bathroom crying about it.

I rush down the stairs and out the front door, ignoring my dads as they call after me. I can explain later…assuming there _is_ a later and that Quinn doesn't kill both of us. I have no idea where they're heading and no form of transportation other than my own two feet so I take off running down the street, going as fast as I possibly can. Luckily, I have always been dedicated to my fitness regimen.

This, unfortunately, is like a wild goose chase. I have no idea where Quinn is going to lure Noah, no way to know if I'm even going in the right direction or whether or not Quinn has already killed him. I close my eyes and try to focus on the connection that Quinn and I have always shared and which has become so much stronger lately. I try to see what she sees, to smell what she does, to feel how she feels but all I can feel is the burn of air in my lungs and all I can hear is the pounding of my heart, beating more out of terror than exertion. The connection only works when Quinn wants it to, when she wants me to see what she wants to show me.

It is only by sheer chance that I find them at all. Or maybe some sort of divine intervention, finally looking out for me after all this time. I have run farther than I thought possible, with each step convincing me that I will be too late, that I am not getting any closer to Noah. I have passed McKinley and the library and several stores and neighborhoods that I don't remember seeing before. I feel as though I am close to leaving Lima all together and when that happens, I will just turn around and run the other way. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Noah's truck and I stop so suddenly I almost skid into a street lamp.

It's parked at the edge of what I assume used to be a public rec center. Now, it doesn't look like much of anything at all, aside from a building that is steadily falling apart. The windows of the building have either been completely knocked out or boarded up and the sides have been spray painted with lewd images and sayings. Vines are starting to creep up the side and there are cracks in the façade. It's like the setting for _The Fall of the House of Usher_ and I wouldn't be surprised if the cracks in the building represent the spreading madness in my mind. How did Quinn ever convince Noah to stop at this place? It's not anywhere near the center of Lima, it surely had to be out of his way. And why would she even want to? Then I see the playground barely standing outside of the building and I know exactly what she had in mind when she suggested they pull over here.

I feel like I can't run anymore but I force myself over to Noah's truck, hoping that he left the door unlocked. It would be a bad idea to go in there empty-handed and anything he has might be turned into at least some sort of weapon. Thankfully, the door is unlocked and I lean into the backseat, my hands fumbling around the floor, hoping to close around anything: a tire iron, ice scraper, anything at all. I pull a canvas bag out from beneath the seat and am relieved that Noah is at least a safe and cautious driver because in the bag he has things like a jack, jumper cables and several tools that I wouldn't know how to use on a car if the situation arose. I take a hammer and Exacto knife out of the bag and quickly slide out the truck, turning and running toward the front of the building.

The door is nearly overgrown but I can tell that the entrance has been recently used because the door has been wrenched open, the vines and other floral growth yanked away. My mouth goes dry as I step into the building, where it is nearly impossible to see. My chest is heavy from running across town and my heart is pounding in my chest from fear and anticipation of what I might find. I am almost certain that I will be too late, that I will stumble upon Noah and Quinn when it is too late to do anything but what Noah die with his eyes locked on mine.

The floor is littered with debris: fallen ceiling tiles, broken glass, vines, discarded beer bottles and other illicit items that I really don't want to think about. How on Earth did Quinn convince Noah to enter this place? I guess that really doesn't matter when they're both inside. I squint my eyes through the darkness, trying to figure out where they would have gone from this point. The sunlight that does manage to get through the cracked or boarded up windows is barely enough to see by but I don't exactly have a lot of time to just stand around and ponder.

From down the hallway, I can hear the murmur of voices, soft at first but steadily growing louder. I cannot make out the words but the growing agitation is clear. I start running in that direction, even though I doubt that my legs are going to be able to take much more sprinting around.

The door at the end of the hall is cracked open and the smell of mildew and stagnant water wafts against my nose, overpowering enough to make me want to wretch. I turn so that I can slip through the crack in the door without having to push it open anymore and risk making any unnecessary noise. When the community center was abandoned and fell into disrepair, no one bothered to empty or clean out the pool because it is still mostly full with water that has taken on a brownish tint. Vines have snaked down into the water and around the walls and floor. There is more graffiti art around and I find it very fitting that someone has painted the word _hopeless_ against the side of the pool.

Directly in front of where I stand are Quinn and Noah. She has him on his back, straddling him, her fingers curled into claws, digging into his arms and tipped with blood where her nails have cut his skin. I can see blood on his chest and there are scratches on his cheek. He is struggling against her but Quinn is inhumanly strong. She is grinning at him, her face sharp and animal-like, like that of a predator. "Are you scared yet, Puck?" She is questioning, leaning closer to his face. "It's better when you're terrified." Her face begins to elongate, her mouth filled with far too many teeth.

I draw in a shaky breath. Saint Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes, give me the strength to crush this bitch. I don't think, I just run straight at Quinn, willing my legs to go a little longer, a little faster. I scream just as I throw myself against her, taking her completely by surprise and sending both of us flying into the disgusting pool, sinking below the water. I struggle to kick to the surface as fast as I can but I feel a hand close around my ankle, yanking me deeper into the water. I will myself not to panic, not to open my mouth and scream but trying to stay calm when someone is dragging you into the water isn't exactly an easy task. I kick, thrashing against Quinn's grip but it's too tight to shake off. I touch the bottom and try to push off but Quinn grabs me suddenly around the waist; I clamp my mouth shut, reaching up to cover my lips with my hand. My hand, however, is occupied. By a hammer. I swing at Quinn's head, which is not an easy task under water but the tip of the hammer just barely grazes the side of her head. It surprises her enough to make her loosen her grip and I kick away, moving toward the surface.

I feel the splash more than hear or see it and suddenly another pair of arms are around me, only this time, instead of trying to drag me down, the arms propel me toward the surface. I gasp when my head finally breaks above the water and I quickly blink away the dirty, disgusting water, shaking my hair away from my face. Noah surfaces right next to me, sputtering, looking around with a panicked expression on his face. "Where is she?"

I shake my head. "I don't know." We start kicking toward the side of the pool. "Noah…are you okay? Did she hurt you?" My eyes fall on his neck but there isn't so much as a scratch there.

We're holding onto the side of the pool, both looking around for Quinn, who still has yet to surface. The stairs have long since fallen off, so we'll have to hoist ourselves out and onto the side. I'm not sure I have the strength to manage just yet. "Rachel…" I look at Noah. "I'm sorry. I should have trusted you."

I muster a weak smile. "It's okay Noah. I probably wouldn't have believed me either." I feel a rush of warmth spread through my body. Noah believes me, I'm not alone anymore.

"Aw, isn't this sweet." Quinn has managed to surface without either of us noticing and is hovering above the water, dripping wet, with a sneer on her face. "I would hate to interrupt this Disney Channel moment."

I put my arm in front of Noah, as though he's not on the football team and isn't twice my size. I narrow my eyes at Quinn. "Leave him alone." I try to make my voice sound as menacing as possible but it's a little hard when I'm terrified that I'm about to die and feel completely defenseless treading water in a pool.

Quinn pouts. "Rachel, I thought best friends share everything."

"God, Quinn, what is your problem? You always have to take everything I like." My favorite Barbie, my favorite stuffed animal, favorite outfit, Jesse. And now Noah. "You're such a jerk."

Quinn laughs, throws back her head and laughs. "Ooh, nice insult iCarly, I might start crying any second." She is floating closer to us and we're still completely exposed in a disgusting pool. If Quinn doesn't kill us, whatever diseases we're currently catching will.

Noah hoists himself out of the pool in one fluid motion and then turns and grabs me under the arms, pulling me out as well before I even realize his intentions. I can see that his arms are scratched and bloody, his shirt torn like he just got in a fight with a very, very angry cat. Or maybe a bear. But otherwise, he looks unharmed.

Quinn sets down in front of us and cracks her knuckles. Again, I move to stand in front of Noah, as though I can somehow distract Quinn from seeing him at all. "Why don't you just leave him out of this, Quinn. This can just be between you and me."

Quinn bares her teeth like an animal, a feral sneer. "I want to make you watch him die, just like with Jesse." She chuckles. "And then it can be you and me, Rach, I promise."

She lunges at us faster than seems possible. I brace myself for the impact but I feel nothing but a breeze; it wasn't me that Quinn was aiming for but Noah, because he is no longer behind me. She slams him against the ground, his head smacking against the tile floor hard enough to send my heart leaping into my chest. Quinn makes this hideous screeching sound, that sounds more like metal than animal and Noah is limp beneath her. She sinks her teeth into his skin and he stirs slightly and I throw myself against her again and we tumble to the hard tile. The hammer I've been clutching for dear life goes sliding across the floor but I still have my fingers wrapped around the Exacto knife.

I push out the blade and dive onto Quinn before she can get to her feet again. I straddle her, holding the knife above her chest. "Cross out Quinn." I snarl and slice an x across her abdomen.

I look down, somehow a little surprised to see the blood seeping from her skin, like even though I drove a knife into her chest months ago, I can't believe that I have actually hurt her now. Quinn's eyes travel down as well and she rolls her eyes, making an exasperated sound like I'm far more trouble than I'm worth.

I hold up the knife, my hands shaking, ready to plunge the blade into her chest once more. Quinn abruptly shifts our positions so that she is on top of me, her knees driving the breath out of my lungs. She grabs my wrist and slams it against the ground hard enough that I feel something crack; the Exacto knife goes clattering to the ground.

"Who's the jerk now Rachel?" She snarls, her face nearly touching mine. I try to push her off me but she grabs my shoulders and slams me against the tile floor so hard that I see stars. "You failed Rachel." She hisses against my skin, wrapping her hands around my neck and squeezing. I open my mouth, a wordless gasp but I can't get a breath and the pressure doesn't relent. "No one is going to stop me now."

A sharp pain fills my body and I realize that Quinn is biting me, her teeth are piercing the skin and muscle of the tender spot where my shoulder meets my neck and I can feel my flesh and sinew give way beneath her impossibly sharp teeth. I scream, tears blurring my vision. I can feel my blood, hot and sticky and running down my neck. I grab her hair, trying to pull her face away from my neck; I shove at her shoulders but she holds fast, like a leech, sucking and ripping and tearing.

Finally, Quinn lifts her head, her mouth stained red with blood. She smiles at me and runs her tongue along her teeth and lips. My neck burns with pain, the sensation overwhelming and making it hard to breathe. Suddenly, something swings past my line of sight and smacks Quinn in the face with enough force to make her fall backward and to snap the object in half. I look up to see Noah standing above me, holding what's left of what used to be a pool cleaning net. He looks a little wobbly on his feet but I'm so happy to see him standing upright, eyes burning with anger, that I want to cry. That and the fact that I have a jagged hole bleeding on the side of my neck.

Noah helps me to my feet, dropping the pole to the ground so he can put his arms around my body. I lean against him, suddenly feeling light-headed but try to push that feeling aside. I turn away from him and back to face Quinn, because I know that Noah's well-timed attack will not be enough to distract her for long. I press my palm against my neck and my heartbeat falters when I realize just how much blood there is. My hand is slick with it, I can feel it in my hair and on my clothes.

Quinn is getting to her feet, her eyes burning with anger. "Enough of this JV shit." She snarls, her fingers curling into claws. "Why won't you assholes just die already?"

I spit out a laugh. "I could ask you the same thing."

She rushes at me and I grab the pole that Noah dropped, screaming as I run to meet her. She can't stop her momentum and my aim is exact; the sharp tip of the pole, where the plastic snapped in two, slams into her chest, right over her heart and she impales herself. We both stare at each other, eyes wide in shock. Then Quinn grabs the pole and pulls it out of her chest, stumbling backward and falling to the ground.

I rush over to her side, unable to explain why I suddenly feel like crying. I kneel down beside her and there is so much blood, more blood than the last time, pooling on the ground, trickling down her neck and into her hair. Quinn would hate that. What an inane thought. She is gasping, her breath raspy and wet sounding in her throat.

Her eyes find mine and I see my friend once again, the old Quinn is finally looking back at me. She reaches out her hand and I take it without thinking, pursing my lips together. There is gratitude in her eyes in the second before she takes another shuddering breath and doesn't exhale, her grip on my hand going slack.

I stare at her a moment longer, unable to believe that this is really it. I was in this moment once before, certain that I had just killed my best friend and look how that turned out. But this just feels different, it feels more certain and final. I reach out to close her eyes, pulling my hand away from hers.

I get to my feet and turn and there's Noah and though the expression on his face his hard to read, it's almost like he understands what just happened, how I didn't just kill the demon but my friend as well. I try to walk toward him but stumble and thankfully he moves forward so that I fall into his arms and I lean against his chest gratefully because I don't think my legs can support me anymore. That light-headed feeling is back and everything is starting to blur together.

"Noah…" I whisper, trying to look up into his face. "I'm glad you're okay. I told you…"

"Let's save the I-told-you-so's for later, huh Berry?" Noah mutters and I feel him lift me into his arms and my eyes flutter closed. "Hey, you stay with me, okay Berry? Rachel!"

But his voice seems so far away and I'm just so tired. I know it's terribly rude, but I don't think Noah will mind if I just take a little nap.

**TBC**


	13. XIII

**A/N: **Well guys, this is the end! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and I've really hoped that you've enjoyed the ride! I know I have :)

13.

When my eyes open again, I am in an unfamiliar room and in a great deal of discomfort. My neck is burning and my head is pounding. I turn my head ever so slightly, just to try and get a better idea of where I'm at and whose bed I'm in and I see my dads, sitting next to the bed with matching looks of concern on their faces. When they see that my eyes are open, they stand up so fast that one of the chairs clatters to the floor and Dad is grabbing my hands and Daddy is wrapping me up in this hug that makes my neck hurt even worse and even though I'm so happy to see them and grateful that they're here, I can't help but mumble, "Ow," in a scratchy voice.

Daddy pulls back quickly, looking like he can't believe he just did something to hurt me. "I'm so sorry, bear." He rests his hand lightly against my cheek, his eyes wet with tears. "We're just so, so happy that you're okay."

I reach a hand up to my neck, my fingers brushing against the bandage taped there. I know it's covering the jagged hole Quinn tore with her teeth. Quinn…she is really gone now. The thought makes me want to cry but also fills me with this weird sense of peace. I can easily picture the gratitude in her eyes as she reached out for my hand. I feel a jolt of panic run through my body and I turn to look at my dads. "Where's Noah?" I try to sit up but Dad quickly reaches out to keep me from moving too much. "Is he okay? Where is he?"

"Noah is fine, honey." Dad assures me and I know that he isn't just saying that to keep me from jumping out of bed and running through the hospital looking for him. "The doctors are just patching him up down the hall. He's the one that brought you in."

I sigh, settling back against the pillows. Noah…I wasn't too late, not this time. "I want to see him."

Dad and Daddy exchange a look, like they're torn between giving me exactly what I want and adhering to hospital policy or doctor's orders or whatever makes them hesitate. "I'm sure he'll want to see you as soon as you're feeling up to." Daddy insists and it makes me frustrated for some reason. I want to see Noah now, I need to just confirm with my own eyes that he's all right, even though I trust my fathers. "He said…he said you two were attacked by that same horrible animal that killed those other two boys. Is that true, bear?"

"It's true." Noah's voice answers from the doorway and three pairs of eyes shift over in his direction. I feel relief course through me when I see him standing there. He, too, has a bandage on his neck and a few around his arms and the scratches on his face and arms are puffy and starting to bruise but otherwise he seems to be all right. "She saved my life." He smiles at my softly over my dads' heads.

I can tell that Daddy is torn between praising me and condemning me for not taking better care of myself. Dad just gives me a slight smile. "That's our girl." He puts his hand on Daddy's shoulder. "Let's go find the doctor, see when she's going to be discharged." Daddy looks like he wants to protest but Dad raises an eyebrow and I guess Daddy gets the hint because he follows Dad out the room with a parting glance at Noah.

Noah steps into the room and sits in the chair that's still upright. "Rachel…" He doesn't look like he knows what to say so he just takes my hand and leans over to kiss me softly. I smile when he pulls away; in this gesture, I have heard him loud and clear. "I thought you were…" He shakes his head, as though trying to dismiss that thought from his mind. "That was stupid, you know, she could have killed you."

"She _would_ have killed you." I point out. Talking makes my throat hurt but I feel like there's so much more to say in this situation. Maybe it would be best to save that for later. "I couldn't let that happen. Not again."

Noah brushes my hair away from my face and kisses me softly again. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you." He says just as softly as his kiss. "I should have trusted you."

I muster a faint smile. "It's okay." And it is, because he is the only other person now who knows the truth about Quinn, about Jesse and Sam and Finn and everything that happened and that somehow makes everything easier.

"You were like…like some badass ninja." Noah remarks with a smile. "She never knew what hit her."

I sigh and try to laugh or even muster a smile but I feel tired again, which seems impossible because I just woke up but sleep seems imminent again. "Noah?" He makes a questioning noise. "Will you sit with me even if I fall asleep?"

Noah chuckles and his grip on my hand tightens. His fingers slip through my hair and that doesn't make me not want to sleep. "Yeah, babe, I'll stay right here."

His voice is the last thing I hear before I drift off to sleep once more. And this time, there are no nightmares.

_Finis _


End file.
